Cold Hands
by B.A. Gemar
Summary: Deep in the Rocky Mountains, an alien has crashed into the territory of a reclusive hunter, in the middle of one of the coldest winters Montana's ever seen. It has enemies chasing its shadow, smelling blood, and the icy human may be its only chance of survival. She's helping it for now, but will she leave it out in the cold for its nemeses once her obligation is fulfilled?
1. Freezing Out

"Where is the target's location!?"

"Last seen on level twelve, C-unit was engaged-!"

"C-unit, respond! Respond!"

"_Ksssh_ Argh! Ah! Aaa—_kssshhh_ movi—up—vl!"

"Shit! Where is A-unit!?"

"Level twenty-two protecting the vice president!"

"Contact! Bogey on level—argh!"

"Oh my Go-!"

"Where is it!? Where is it!?"

"—go—a—elp—!"

"Where is it!?"

"Bogey spotted heading up the elevators on level fifteen!"

"Freeze the elevators!"

"It's not _using_ the elevators!"

"Bogey spotted on level sixteen! It's heading right up towards you!"

Mr. Takehata stood with his unit, backs against the walls. He signaled his men and they moved quickly towards the elevator shaft.

They had been hearing the storm of bullets move up floor by floor for the last two hour-long minutes. He didn't understand what was happening, or why. He had simply been in the break room, drinking the cheap provided coffee, thinking about asking that secretary on the ground floor, who was probably now dead, to go on a date again, even if she kept sheepishly refusing him.

Then just like that alarms started piercing the air with their shrill cry and every unit in the building had been mobilized. He never knew why this kind of company needed as much security detail as it did but he never questioned. No sooner had him and his six men gotten into position hell opened up and threw some kind of demon at them. The hail of bullets hadn't stopped since. And this, _thing_, hadn't even slowed down. He really wished he was holding more than his small semi-automatic handgun; he felt like he was a kid with a popgun about to be mauled by a bear. A mean bear with an attitude problem.

He and his men fanned out along the opening of the hallway straight across from the elevator on level nineteen, no one actually entered into the hallway. When nothing moved a few men entered in, guns pointed at the door before moving to either side of it. They could hear nothing coming from the elevator shaft and looked back to Takehata for instructions.

"Where is the bogey now!?" he spoke, the small piece on his collar catching his voice, and the response came directly into his ear.

"Last seen in the elevators on level seventeen heading up!"

"You three, go cover the other elevator," the three men nodded and ran down the hall, guns pointed at the door before turning left and disappearing from view. He was left in his spot with Akechi, the young man who had only been a part of this unit for three weeks. He was remarkably calm for being so new, well, as calm as the other seasoned members were. Everyone was nervous, tense, sweating bullets, looking at other men and seeing mirrors of their own frightened face. It was eerily quiet. He could hear the breathing of the men down the hall. He swallowed hard, dark eyes glued to the door, gun pointed around the corner. There was no sound.

The elevator pinged and everyone flinched, but the door did not open, the light at the top was lit on level six.

"Oh shit!" there were death cries and gun fire at the other elevator. Takehata began running down the hallway as the men at the other door turned and began firing. Both men simply exploded in a blaze of blue fire, one just a half-second after the other. He tried to stop, his shoes causing him to slide several inches forward, and he swung his arms for balance before ducking behind a large decorative pot filled with giant bamboo.

Akechi, who had followed him down, stopped much more gracefully and opened then dashed into a room, shutting the door silently behind him. Takehata wished he had thought of that. He shifted, edging slowly to try to see beyond the pot. He gasped and began to hyperventilate before holding his breath, tightly biting his lip. A… _thing_ stepped into view, looking at the scattered remains of the two men on the floor. It was huge, a full two-heads taller than Takehata, and twice as wide, nothing but muscle under the sparse rusty armor it wore. Its skin was reptilian, colored a sickly green with bruise-colored splotches, but its body was human. Three small canons were mounted on its back over its shoulders, parting long black dreadlocked hair; at least Takehata thought it was hair.

It wore a mask, a red spiked mask with grey eyes.

Takehata felt his fingers slip against the plastic of his gun, and his body was desperate for air. The alien turned towards the elevator and unleashed two sets of double-bladed gauntlet weapons and tore easily through the metal door. It kicked the weakened metal in as Takehata took aim for the middle of its back. It jumped in and began climbing up the sheer wall of the elevator shaft, just as a bullet sparked next to its shoulder. It didn't stop. It didn't even flinch.

"Shit!" Takehata scrambled up, smacking the door, "it's heading up come on!"

The two men made way to the stairs, looking up the several flights as they began heading up without hesitation. Takehata guessed that the other elevator shaft had been blocked by the elevator itself, and that tearing through his men was the path of least resistance to continue its rampage. This thing was moving with purpose, but Takehata couldn't imagine what. It was an alien, capable of space travel, what would it possibly want from a company like Yutani?

He was out of breath but ready for action once he reached the top floor. With the speed it was moving it would have been here long before they arrived. They heard gunfire and headed its way. Slamming against the corner he looked past and saw A-unit surrounding the door of vice president Himura's office, firing relentlessly in one direction. With a roar the thing jumped right into their midst, glowing green blood flowing out of bullet holes in its body. It didn't even feel them as it tore through the men like rice paper.

Neither Takehata or Akechi could risk firing into the fray, they might hit one of the other men. It wouldn't have made a difference either way. There weren't any men left alive after a few seconds. The creature then turned to its right and, without any pause, literally kicked in the door like it was nothing. Wood splintered as more shots fired through the door and the walls. Takehata aided by creating perpendicular fire, Akechi following suit, causing the creature to flee down a specific hallway. But then it rippled and was gone. Takehata stopped dead, staring at where the thing had been, breathing heavily. The rest of the gunfire ceased also, and it was dead quiet for a moment.

"Don't shoot don't shoot!" called Takehata as he and Akechi moved to enter the room. A bunch of guns were trained on him and his partner but they didn't fire. Beyond them he could see the vice president, standing up behind his desk, several monitors all turned towards him, wild eyes looking around at the two new men.

"Where is it?" the defenseless man asked in a shaky whisper.

The wall to Takehata's left suddenly blew outwards, taking out nearly half of the group inside. The alien jumped through the destruction, wristblades out and making short work of the other half. Takehata shielded his face and ran away from the explosion, crashing into a wall behind a feature waterfall and turning his back to the hard surface, his shoulders and hair soaked. He blinked through water dripping into his eyes and saw the creature as it threw a spear through his partner. The young man fell dead on his back sliding a foot from the force.

He watched through the distortion the water created as the monster turned towards the vice president, who was pressed back against his pure-glass wall overlooking the city. The creature reached forward, taking the monitors in his hand and turning them to look at the screens, then crashed them onto the desk, and threw the remains of the furniture out of his way, advancing on the helpless man.

The vice president suddenly produced a weapon from his coat, a small gun of some sort that looked alien in its own design, aiming for the creature.

"Take one more step and I shoot!" he warned. The alien stopped, tilting its head, dreadlocks tapping against his shoulder.

"This is one of yours, or copied from one, you see that, don't you?" the vice president's voice was like venom as he spoke, shifting the weapon in his hands, training it on the center of the creature's mass. It didn't move, making a low rattling noise as it shifted its weight, seizing up the threat that the vice president posed to him. The business man swallowed visible, then hissed, "yeah, you know what this can do, You've got three of them," Himura hissed, leaning away from the glass and stepping forward. The alien wasn't intimidated, "let's see how you like it."

The creature lifted its hand, causing both men to flinch, and made an oddly human gesture. It was pointing. It was pointing at the window. Takehata leveled his gun on the creature and moved back out to the middle of the floor, getting drenched again by the waterfall. He spread his feet and squared his shoulders, the beam of his laser dead center with the creature's back. He froze as he saw a shimmer behind the window. The vice president slowly turned to look over his shoulder, just as the shimmer rippled and faded away, revealing an elegantly curved ship, vaguely knife-shaped, facing the window.

Blood suddenly splattered against the glass, obscuring Himura's reflection. The monster had his wristblades all the way through the vice president who convulsed, blood pouring out of his mouth. It lifted him from the ground, the blood beading off the metal cleanly. The alien took the gun out of the dying man's hand and then thrust him forward, sending him through the glass and off its blades in one movement. Takehata yelled and opened fire on the monster as it swung its blades and steaked blood along the floor. The bullets never missed, but it barely flinched, looking back at Takehata as passive as if he was throwing pebbles at it. Then it turned and charged towards the broken window, jumping the distance between the building and the ship, landing in an open hatch and walking into the darkness as calmly as it pleased.

The door closed behind the monster and Takehata ran to the glass, hair dripping into his face, wind tossing his clothes, watching the ship turn and begin flying away. He lowered his gun, the action wide open, watching it sail silently away like an owl. Then from above him, a ball of blue fire shot from the rooftop and impacted the ship, causing it to buckle and dip dangerously low into the city before it pointed up at a steep angle and shot into the atmosphere, trailing dark smoke.

"What the hell?" Takehata leaned forward, trying to look up to see what had shot at the other ship, then looked down, at the small spot on the sidewalk that had been vice president Himura.

"We found an alien device on floor eleven!" came a yell in his ear and he turned, gathering a new gun from a fallen comrade and checking its ammunition.

"I have one here as well," Takehata said, looking at the spear sticking out of Akechi's chest, closing the young man's eyes.

"Is it also beeping?"

"What?"

The sound was like thunder as the building exploded from its center, but just as quickly everything suddenly began to implode, sucking towards the center, tearing up and vanishing in a whirling vortex. The upper and lower levels disintegrated into dust and were pulled down into a small black sphere. The sound was like a hurricane as it consumed everything. It ate pieces of the surrounding buildings into its insatiable gullet. Then it shrunk down into nothingness and was gone. Around it, the sounds of many sirens could be heard converging on the missing building, and a single helicopter flew by overhead.


	2. Chill

Silent night. The song would have fit so well here, where the midnight blue sky overlooked a world of white, the moon was absent, the area was dark, but the eyes of those awake had already adjusted. The perfect sheet of ice covered snow was disturbed only by the delicate footsteps of a small herd of deer, pushing through the frost to find the hibernating grass below.

At the same time, the song would not have a place here. The music with its lullaby feel would have only given the scene an eerie feeling, for a hunter stalked these trees. Slow silent breath was filtered through a thick scarf. Frozen crystals floated out onto the light breeze against the cold face before fading away. Brown eyes circled by ice light as they watched the dark shapes moving among the trees. Every part covered in brown and white.

Thick fleece gloves moved quietly, the sound of fabric rubbing against itself almost deafening in the dead silence. A deer's ears perked and it lifted its head, bloodied by the sharp ice it kept pushing through. The hunter froze and waited, watching the animal look around, licking its nose, then returning to the snow.

A single glove fell away, dangling from the wrist by a cord. The other soon joined it, and the two bare hands moved slowly, removing from a crook in a branch a large bow, bent with two wheels on either end with copious amounts of string between them. A single arrow was taken from the side of the bow which held five others. It was set on the string, the small click enough to give the hunter pause to see what the deer would do.

It lifted its head again, ears flicking back and forth and froze. It let out a hiss and the others of its herd looked up and around. The hunter's eyes narrowed, taking the risk and pulling the arrow back until the fletching rested against the scarf. The deer were nervous, beginning to move away, but the antlerless buck would wait for all the females to move before him. The hunter waited, the deer needed to turn for a clean shot. Even breath came in light clouds, freezing in the eyebrows below a hood. The buck moved. The hunter held their breath. Long legs lifted high and stepped back down to the snow. It stopped, looked around.

It took off running before the arrow even left the bow, and it sailed over its back and into the snow. The rest of the herd took off running in front of it, heading up the mountain. Another arrow was readied, but another shot never presented itself.

"Shit!"

The hunter smacked the wood and reached up, pulling down the scarf, revealing dry lips and a little bit of brown hair. The arrow on the string was removed and put back in its spot with the others on the side of the weapon. The hunter leaned back against the main part of the tree, the back of their head smacking against the wood cursing under puffs of breath. The bow was lowered to the ground via a rope, crunching lightly as it settled. Tossing the rope, the hunter turned to climb down, cold hands gripping thin branches, looking for the best way down.

There was a sound. Faint. The hunter looked around but was alone. Then the snow started to turn an orange color. Looking up, the hunter saw a mass of burning red, trailing smoke, flying dangerously close to the tops of the trees. Head turned, watching it fly overhead towards the mountain, and the snow turned white again. Quickly climbing up to the top of the tree, slipping only once, the hunter saw the meteor get smaller and smaller until it hit the side of the mountain mid-way to the peak. But it made no sound.

"What the hell?" The hunter pulled back the hood, revealing more brown hair, and a feminine face with sharp angles. She watched the spot of black smoke slowly fade away until it was gone. The woods around her were dead silent once more, her clouds of breath floating towards the mountain.

"Well," she puffed and sniffed, pulling her scarf back up over her nose, "don't see that every day."

The hunter moved back down the tree, dropping down next to her bow. She put her gloves back on and lifted the bow from the snow, holding it over her shoulder and crunching towards the mountain. She followed the deer tracks to get an idea of where they would be in the morning until they veered off her path and headed south, she continued east through the trees for a distance before stopping with a sigh.

Before her was a log cabin, two stories high, all the windows dark save for a red glow coming from one on the lower levels. It was dark wood, a single door in the front, four steps leading up to the long porch that spanned the entire front. She moved forward, kicking her free of snow on her way up. She unlocked and opened the door and stepped inside. She shut the door behind her and was left with the red glow originating somewhere to her left. She took off the hood, her gloves and scarf and hung them onto the wall beside the door. The bow was also hung here next to a few different styles of guns.

By the dim light she moved to a fireplace and the pile of wood beside it. She set up the logs and found the match box on the mantelpiece. It took three matches and two expletives to get a fire finally going. Her eyes were well adjusted by the time the fire was fully glowing, illuminating clearly a small circle in front of it, and dimly the things behind it. The front room was sparse, a single large chair sat in front of the fire, a rug made of a compilation of furs before it. Behind the chair, against the western wall was a large bookcase, filled with books; informational how-to's and 'the way this works,' with very few works of fiction. A table sat below the window which was curtained. The shapes of picture frames could be seen, and the fire was reflected in the glass.

The source of the red light was several lamps pointed at a wall separating this room from the next which was completely dark inside. The wall was set up with shelves, on which several glass cages were set. Inside each one a creature rested, the most clearly visible was one in the bottom, and largest, cage. The hunter moved to it and opened the front of the cage, reaching in and removing a light tan-colored lizard nearly the length of her arm.

"No luck today Smaug," she said to the lizard, holding him up. It simply tilted its head. She smiled at the lizard and kissed its head, setting it on her shoulder and moving into the dark room. She located and lit a lantern, blowing out the match and turning the brightness up. The entire kitchen was illuminated from just the small source. She moved over to a stove and turned one of the knobs, a light hissing perforated the air with a peculiar scent. She used a match to light the burner, then moved a pot onto it, already filled with water.

She opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of Swiss Miss as the water came to a boil. She removed two packets and moved a mug closer to her on the counter by the stove.

It was a roomy kitchen, the kind any woman would die for. Cupbpards all along the walls, a mobile island in the middle of it, stainless steel sink with a faucet that didn't force you to crush your hands against the back of the basin in order to use the water, and a wood counter. There was a gorgeous light fixture above the island, deep silver dome lamps with round bulbs, the switch for them was by the door.

The hunter turned off the heat once the water began to boil and poured it into the mug, steam rising all the way to the ceiling. She put the pot and left over water onto a cool burner and poured the chocolate mixes into the hot water. She stirred it together with a silver spoon and blew on the surface as she moved back into the living room.

She sat down in the chair, shifted and moved it a little closer to the fire. She settled back into the cushions and looked into the fire. Smaug fidgeted and moved to be closer to her, spiky scales tickling her neck. She moved her head and rubbed her cheek against the lizard. She thought about the meteor as she watched the flames, "it's probably worth something to somebody," she mused to the dragon and sipped her hot chocolate. She blew on the foamy surface again and looked over at a large grandfather clock, looking at the time as the giant pendulum caught the light for a split second every second.

It was only a half hour after six, "what should I have for dinner Smaug?" she asked looking at the lizard's back, "hmm?" the reptile cocked its head to look at her, "steak sound good to you?" she smiled and kissed the lizard again, moving and setting him back down in his cage, shutting the door. She walked through the kitchen and to a door across the way, opening it to reveal a set of stairs. She took the lantern with her down the steep stairs and into the earth. She could see her breath here, in the light of the lantern. It was a large square room, as wide as the floor of the house and eight feet high. Wooden shelves lined every wall, filled with cans and boxes. A large white rectangle was her destination, and she flipped the lid open to reveal many slabs of meat.

She looked through them and selected a piece, using a small icepick to pry it from the others, and then left back to the upstairs, letting the lid drop closed. She started up the stove again, turning the fire low and putting the slab of meat into a skillet produced from one of the cupboards. She added a little oil, and then covered it. She moved out to the living room to the bookshelf. She looked through the various titles there and selected one called _Planets, Stars and Galaxies: a Guide to the Universe_. She looked at the front cover then the back, glancing up at a noise and saw Smaug chewing on a large superworm that had foolishly dug out of the safety of the sand.

"Good boy," she praised before opening the book and flipping through it. She leaned against the counter by the stove and read through the book as the meat thawed, pausing only to flip the steak back and forth. She had seen meteors before, showers and falling stars; this wasn't even the first time one actually landed on her property, surviving the entry into the atmosphere. But what got her confused was that, it had been so _quiet_. Something that large should have sounded like a hurricane passing that close overhead, and especially when crashing into the mountain, and yet it was nearly completely silent except for the sounds of burning.

There were no answers in the book by the time the steak was ready. She took the warmed meat out and made sure it was thawed all the way through, then turned the heat up for the oil. She washed her hands and got out a variety of spices. She rubbed these into the meat, stabbing it repeatedly with a fork and threw it back into the oil. It sizzled and popped loudly and she used the lid as a shield while it threw a fit. She let it sear on one side, then flipped it, protected herself from another fit, and then turned the fire down again.

The steak cooked for only a few minutes on each side before she removed it from the skillet and onto a plate. She poured the oil and juices over it and set the skillet back down on the cooling stove. She picked the book back up as she at the island, still looking for answers. There was nothing there, but this was only one book, she may find some in others. It didn't take long for dinner to be over, the dishes were washed except for the pan still slightly filled with water, and the grandfather clock struck eight.

She moved over to the fire and put it out with the water in the pan, returning it to the kitchen. She could still hear the fire crackle under the black logs and ashes but couldn't see any embers in the dark. With the lantern in her hand she blew a kiss to the bearded dragon, "goodnight Smaug," and ascended up the stairs. There were only two rooms here, one on the left and right. Both had once been bedrooms, but she entered into the one on her right. The bed there was a king, more than enough for just her alone, but it was extremely comfortable and stood three feet from the floor, with one foot of clearance between the floor and the base.

She set the lantern on the nightstand, lighting up most of the room, a dark rug on the ground to cover the large empty space, a fireplace across from the bed, a table on the other side of the bed that had a gun laying on it in front of a small digital clock, and a small dresser. Otherwise the only decorations were on the walls, pictures that hung in uneven lines, and a few skulls of animals here and there.

She moved over and lit a fire on the dry logs within the hearth and put a screen guard up in front of it. She undressed on her way back to the bed and slipped into warm fleece clothes before hopping into the bed under three different comforters.

"'Early to bed' right mom?" she looked over at a dark and obscure picture hanging above the fireplace. She turned the lantern all the way down until the fire was the only source of light. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, cocooning herself and sighing into one of the four feather pillows. The crackling of the fire and the light smell of burning pine lulled her to sleep.


	3. Snow Job

She was awoken by harsh knocking. Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunched and she inhaled, burying her face into her pillow. The knocking sounded again. She groaned and buried her head under the blankets, muffling the woodpecker. The third knock made her realize a few things: it was six in the morning, it was still winter and the woodpeckers were not active when it was this cold, and that she had a front door. She lifted her head from under her pillow, looking over at the door of her room as another knock assaulted her home.

She slipped out of bed, shivering when her feet touched the cold wood floor. She dug for and threw on a thick robe and moved down the stairs. She tied her robe up and reached for the door, hesitating for a brief moment and switching hands, opening the door with her left, leaning her right on the wall by the doorframe.

The door swung inwards and she narrowed her eyes. The offender stood on her porch, dressed in a nice black suit with a thick coat, holding a steaming thermos. He was a fairly average man. His brown hair was thinning and turning grey, crow's feet starting to develop at the corners of his ice-blue eyes. Beyond him, several other people were tramping over her front yard, packing down the snow, and there were a lot more vehicles than she would have liked being in her woods, a whole two trucks.

"Good morning—."

"Do you actually know what time it is?" she interrupted sternly. The man took it in stride and switched his thermos to his left hand and twisted his wrist until his watch was revealed.

"Oh, I am so sorry! No I didn't realize it was this early in the morning—."

"No, it's fine," she said sarcastically, "could you do me a favor though, and go and take all your people back down that road you came up and let me know if that 'no trespassing' sign is still up?"

"There is a sign," said the man, slipping his hand into his pocket, "but it's extremely weathered and unreadable."

She thinned her lips and leaned more to her right, "can I help you Mr.…?"

"Smith."

"Is that your real name or the name someone told you to tell me?"

"My real name, Mr. Fredrick Smith, at your service."

"My service hm? Mind taking your people off my lawn?"

"I'm sorry—."

"What do you want Mr. Smith?" She was getting frustrated, this guy wasn't getting the hint, and she really wanted these guys off her property and out of her life. Maybe playing along would make them both happy and get this torture session over with and she can mark it down on her calendar and be done with it.

"Well, as you may or may not know, a meteor landed near hear last night—."

"I saw it," she said, fingers tapping against the wood near a rifle.

"Well my team and I have been asked to come up here to retrieve it."

"Sent by who? And if it landed on my property doesn't that make it mine?" She knew that it did, the other meteor that had landed on this mountain when she was much younger attracted the attention of some local science club, who informed them of the laws surrounding their find, and also offered to buy it from them.

"We are willing to pay you for the meteor and to compensate you for your time," Mr. Smith said with a curt nod.

The woman cocked an eyebrow then narrowed her eyes. In a quick movement she had Mr. Smith by his lapels, dragging him closer. She heard the clicking of guns but her eyes was on his jacket, pulling the cloth straight to read correctly the logo there. She pushed Mr. Smith back to her porch and stepped further back into her home.

"Get off my land, I don't talk to Weyland lackeys," she hissed. All pleasantries had dropped from her countenance, her hand clearly held her gun. Mr. Smith calmly straightened his clothes, and picked up his spilled thermos. Of all the men there, he was the only one who hadn't gone for his gun. He motioned for the others to put their weapons away as he turned again to speak.

"I understand that you haven't had pleasant dealings with Weyland Industries in the past, Miss Rousseau," he capped the thermos and twisted the lid back onto it, the steaming coffee on her porch quickly losing heat.

"What is this _really_ about?"

"The meteor," Mr. Smith said without pause, "it may contain specific metals that interest our company. We've been harvesting several of these in the past years when and where we can. Like I said, we are fully prepared to compensate you for your time and to pay you for the meteor itself, since it is legally yours."

The woman glowered at him, "I don't want your money," she said and swung the door to shut it.

"Perhaps a deal would interest you more then?" Smith said, but not hastily, before it was fully closed. The woman had her hand against the wood, ready to push it the last inch it needed to shut him out completely, "a promise that after this, we will assure you will be left alone for the remainder of your days?"

The door opened immediately and she stepped forward, "I want it in writing," she growled, "'Weyland Industries will cease any dealings, pursuits, interests etcetera of one Hannah Rousseau from this date forward,'yadda yadda. I want it signed by Bishop's brat in ink, not the stupid printable signature he puts on everything else you understand? Black ink. By his _own _hand."

"Understood Miss Rousseau," Smith said with a nod, pulling from his pocket a thin black phone, "I'll get on that immediately if you'll take my team up the mountain as soon as you can."

Hannah looked out to the group of men standing in the snow, "give me ten minutes. And no guns."

She shut the door and turned, carrying the gun with her back to her upstairs. She didn't bother with breakfast, brushing her hair and teeth, or anything besides getting dressed for the hike. The sooner this was over with, the better for all parties involved. She was down within the ten minute window she had given herself, dressed in two layers of clothes plus her thick coat like the ones worn by the men. She put the rifle back up on the wall but opened up the table by the window and took out a black handgun; a Beretta 84FS cheetah. She ejected and checked the clip to make sure it had a full thirteen rounds of ammunition, then slipped it into the pocket of her parka.

She stepped out of her home, turning and locking the door behind her. She looked over her shoulder, noticing that five men out of the nine that were there were standing closer to her home than she felt comfortable with, but figured this was her 'team' that would be going up the mountain with her. She turned and looked to see that one of them had a pack on his back and recognized a collapsible sled that they were probably going to use to get the meteor down.

"Alright Miss Rousseau, these men will accompany you up and retrieve the meteor if it is small enough to carry down. This is Mr. Dyson he'll be the one in charge of my men," the named man nodded, "I'll be going back to England immediately to get that paperwork written out and signed for you by Mr. Weyland."

He gave her a small salute of sorts and slid into one of the trucks along with the three other men. She glowered as it moved down the road to the south. She then looked at the other five men and exhaled a puff of vapor, "let's not waste time," she growled and moved her scarf up over her nose.

Despite the men being Weyland flunkies, she was impressed despite herself with their ability to keep up with her. She was a seasoned climber, and they were matching the impatient pace she was setting without difficulty. Every now and then there was a slip and a few feet of sliding, especially by the guy who was carrying the sled, but otherwise they were making good time.

"Don't start an avalanche," she continued to warn and would roll her eyes and continue up. The sun was beating against the western face of the mountain by the time they left the timberline and started up the bare white face that marked the higher reaches of the mountain. They could see where the meteor hit clearly; where everywhere else was clean and untouched, dark earth had ruptured out on top of the pristine snow in piles around a small crater, like an infected wound. The mountain here was steeper than previously, and even she was crawling up on occasion, shaking out fistfuls of snow.

Something was wrong, though. There was no meteor where the crater was. She saw that much even before they got to the impact site. It was an empty smear of earth.

Her breath came out in heavy but steady pants, pulling the scarf away from her reddened nose and looking around at the area. The other men behind her were also looking around. This made no sense. She looked further up the mountain and saw some more dirt there, as if the meteor had skipped across the snow like a stone on water. She climbed up to this other, also empty, impact site and saw that parted snow made a trail to a cave she knew well. There were no footprints around the area besides the ones they made. Hannah's eyes narrowed in the blinding light, trying to make sense of it. The meteor had _moved_ into the cave? By itself?

She took a step up towards the gaping mouth of the cave but was stopped by Dyson, "that's far enough Miss Rousseau, we'll take it from here."

"Take _what_ from here?" she asked spreading her arms, "there's nothing!"

"Please calm down miss, you've been a great help, you can go home, we've got this."

Hannah's eyes narrowed and she glanced back at the cave, "no, this is my property. I'm not leaving you unattended to go skipping around as you please. Get your rock and I'll take you down."

"That's not necessary Miss Rousseau—."

"It's completely necessary," she growled, "I'm not fucking blind, something's going on here," she waved an arm around the area, "either that meteor has the best aim in the entire universe, or it stood up and walked into that cave, either way, I'm going in to find out."

"No you're not," Dyson said with conviction and Hannah turned a scathing glare towards the man.

"Excuse me?" she said, stepping intentionally backwards towards the cave, "as far as anyone's concerned, this thing is still mine, and I can do with it what I want," she narrowed her eyes as Dyson offered nothing in his defense. He was hiding something, just like when her mother died, "deal's off," she said coldly, "you're trespassing, get out."

All the men had gone extremely tense and she knew then that they all still had their guns with them. She turned and ran towards the cave, boots hitting the snow hard but sliding on the fine powder. She hit her hands against the snow, clawing her way up but felt her hair grabbed. She yelled out in pain, grabbing the offending hand but was thrown backwards, sliding down the snow gripping a glove. Her face stung with cold and turned red as she scrambled to get up, managing to get to one knee before she heard a click.

She looked up into the barrel of a gun, a Glock, pointed right for the space between her eyes, "that is all Miss Rousseau, thank you for your cooperation," his voice barely managed past her heart beating in her ears. She blinked once, barely thinking of grabbing her own gun and moving her hand for her pocket. She flinched, eyes wide, mouth open as blood splattered against her face. Dyson looked down at his chest, where two invisible knife blades were sticking out of him, graceful curve pointing skyward. White lines rippled from the blades and then from behind Dyson, revealing a huge, green and purple _thing_ with a red mask.

Gunfire erupted around her and a roar rocked the world. She ducked down, covering her head as something hot and heavy tore up the snow around her, charging past to the other men firing upon it. She looked up and over her shoulder, watching the massive creature tear through another man. It was getting repeatedly shot, but it wasn't reacting at all, like it couldn't feel the bullets even though its glowing green blood was melting deep patches in the snow.

It cut through the men as easily as a scythe through grass.

"Bring it down! Bring it down!"

The man trying to give orders was stuck through with the blades and yelling in defiance at the creature, unloaded his entire gun into the thing's abdomen. The monster roared like thunder, cutting upward and with its free hand tearing the man's head from his shoulders, spine and all. It dropped the body and collapsed to its knees, hand held to the horrible wound. It stood to its feet though, holding the man's head by his hair and turning. It was shot again, causing it to drop its trophy and stumbled back, slipping in the snow, clawed hand digging deep to stop its descent.

The lone gunman shot the creature again and again as he calmly walked forward, earning a grunt-like roar each and every time until the monster was laying still, mask facing the sky, chest heaving up and down with a wet wheezing sound. Its hand was still buried in the snow, which was melting perfect edges around it.

"Oh no," said the Weyland grunt with a sadistic grin, "you're not dying that easily, you're coming back with me, alive."

The creature turned its head slightly, peering at the man through the grey eyes of its mask. He flicked the safety back onto his gun and moved to holster it, only to have a small hole blow out through his forehead. He dropped down instantly, red blood pooling into the snow and melting it.

"You forgot someone," Hannah hissed and looked from the body of the man to the thing. Its head moved slightly before dropping against the snow, swaying slightly and it began to slide down.

"Oh shit!" Hannah caught the massive creature's arm, feeling the immense heat through her glove instantly. The thing was heavy, but she managed enough friction with her heels digging into the snow to stop him from sliding down the face of the mountain. She gasped and heaved for breath. She looked at its massive wrist held in both of her hands, then it, and then around, wondering what on earth she was going to do now.


	4. Out of the Bitter Cold

Hannah was freezing. Primarily sliding down the mountain meant that a lot of snow had gotten into her parka and soaked into the two layers she had underneath. The unconscious monster stayed in front of her most of the time, being heavier and so was dragging her down, and she was acting like a break. She had taken all the coats of the dead Weyland grunts and packed them on top of and around the alien, which she had just managed to get up onto the collapsible sled by burying it up to the flat surface and pushing the thing onto it. She tied it down with the provided chord and began her descent.

Now she was almost home, struggling very little to pull the heavy weight along the more level ground. She was shivering, though; the only part of her that wasn't wet was inside her boots. She would have to get the house warmed up quickly, and not just for her benefit.

The creature, whatever it was, was mostly reptilian as far as she could tell. Its skin, while leathery, had scales much like what dinosaurs used to have. It was warm-blooded, producing its own body heat on epic levels, but being in the cold couldn't be good for it. On top of everything it was wounded, and not just from the fight. Its leg was broken, the bone of which was protruding outside the calf, which had only been aggravated by its fight with the men. Other wounds it had, including other bullet wounds, were already healed over to a point.

She drew two conclusions from this: it had previously been in a fight with people, and it was the thing that crashed into the mountain the previous night.

Which made it an alien.

The cabin soon came into view and she gave a short panting sigh of relief. Wrapping the chord around her shoulders she stomped and pulled the monster to her front door. She turned the sled at the stairs so that its head was towards the door, and as carefully as she could, struggled to get it to slide easily up the stairs.

She curse at the locked door and fumbled with the key, her hand shaking and wet fingers slipping against the metal that she couldn't feel. She shouldered the door open and dragged her guest to the floor. She shut the door and ran over to the fireplace, throwing a couple logs on and lighting the fire with much profanity. As the fire flickered to life she unbound the monster and removed the parkas. Not a single one was free of thick green blood that was slowly losing its glow in places.

The wound on its abdomen was the most glaring, still glowing brightly. Every rise and fall of its chest caused a noise that was painful to _listen_ to; she couldn't imagine how it felt. Cold fingers stung from its heat as they traced over the other wounds. She knew only basic first aid, things she figured would keep her alive in an emergency if one occurred. Surgery was not on her repertoire of skills.

She thought quickly and began rushing from here and there in her house, depositing things by the sled until she had a pile of whatever she thought she might need. Having since regained feeling in her fingers, she washed her hands and doused them in rubbing alcohol before kneeling by the wounded alien. She really, _really_, hoped it would stay unconscious as she removed its armor, weapons, and mesh body wrap.

The first thing she did was take a pair of needle-nose pliers, cleaned thoroughly with rubbing alcohol and began to dig out the bullets. Luckily, the creature's skin and muscle were thick, and none of the ten bullets she removed had penetrated deeper than an inch and a half. This made her concerned about what was making it wheeze, and began to worry that it might have a broken rib that was puncturing a lung, maybe occurring in the crash. She found no more bullets in the massive wound area. She dug bullets out of the other wounds on its body, taping bandages over all of them, then turned to the leg next.

From what she could see of the protruding bone, it was at least a clean break, but trying to push it back with her hands alone was futile. No matter how she grunted and pressed, it didn't budge. She ran to her kitchen and pulled out of a closet there a vice clamp. It wasn't gentle, and with every crank she whispered to the creature to not awaken. Once the bone finally set in, she tightly bound it with two thick wooden spoons and ace wrap.

She turned again to try to find the source of the monster's wheezing, putting her ear against its chest, hearing an odd waltzing beat from beneath the muscle. She furrowed her brow and leaned away, kneeling before the creature with a despairing look. There was nothing she could do for that kind of injury save for cut the thing open, and she sure as hell didn't want to do that.

Then, as she watched, it stopped breathing. Her eyes turned wide and she looked it over. She put her hands against the alien's chest but it didn't rise.

"No no no no no!" she reached for its face, fumbling with the mask which didn't give to her pulls and prods. She finally found what was catching and removed two tubes which hissed with a warm vapor. She then removed the mask and flinched, dropping the heavy metal piece that clanged to the wood floor oudly. Three clawed mandibles fell loosely away from a lipless pink fleshy mouth ringed in sharp teeth.

"How the hell do I give CPR to that!?" she cried to no one. She reached for, and flinched away from, the disturbing orifice before whimpering and bending down over it. Though she tried, she couldn't make a tight enough seal around the strange mouth, and she pulled away gagging. She looked around, trying to think of what to do. She then ran outside and around the back of her house, making sure to shut the door, where an old blue rusting chevy sat covered in snow. But she was headed for the small shack it was parked next to. She hurled open the door and picked up a small red air compressor.

She hauled it back towards the cabin, pausing only start up a generator. It roared to life as she struggled back inside. She plugged the compressor into an outlet in a wall and started it up. Waiting for the pressure to build was torture, and once it reached 40 psi she turned to its face and winced again, "my _God _you are one ugly motherfucker," she scrunched her nose twitching her fingers. She grimaced as she made a seal around its mouth with her hand and inserted in the air compressor tip. She pulled the trigger and saw its chest rise but only a little. She continued to increase the psi until its chest rose the same way as it had been breathing. She threw all her weight on her elbows onto its chest, incapable of performing proper compressions.

She did this four times before the monster jerked violently and coughed, some glowing blood splattering up onto it face. It made coughing-esque noises and she repeated her prayer to stay asleep like a mantra. Its head fell back down to the sled without resistance, and its eyes remained closed. Thanking God she touched the blood that had come up. Something was definitely wrong with it internally, but it wasn't like she could take it to the doctor.

She was at a loss for what to do next. She shivered and rubbed her arm. She got up in a hurry and ran to the thermostat on the wall which had blinked to life now that the generator was running. She turned the dial up to as high as it could go and ran to the furnace. She lit it easily and heard the system roar to life. Running back she retied the alien to the sled and carefully, and with much difficulty, pulled it up the long set of stairs. Her arms were shuddering violently from the strain by the time she made it up. She pulled the alien into her room and started the fire in there.

Pulling the monster closer to the bed she puzzled about how to get it up onto the matress, before giving up, untying the thing and piling the comforters over it. She then ran down the stairs and apologized to the creatures on the wall as she took away all the red lights and the battery they were attached to, and ran them back upstairs, directing them all onto the thing. She moved away, walked in a small circle, lost, then shut the door of her room and collapsed to the floor, staring at the wall.

She breathed heavily, already feeling the sweat roll down her back. She looked over her shoulder at the still unconscious alien.

She had really thought about leaving it there in the snow and getting on with her life, but she would be damned if the first extraterrestrial to come to earth would have a horrible experience with humans and then die on her property. She didn't need to be blamed for interplanetary war.

She turned towards the alien, her back falling against the wall and just stared at it for countless minutes. Eventually she got up and went down the stairs. She took all of its things from the floor and took them down into her cold storage, hiding them behind the shelves before moving back upstairs.

She emptied out then threw the parkas into the fireplace, which caused a horrible smell, but she ignored it. She locked the door of her home, drew all of the curtains on the windows, and meticulously relocated all of the glass cages into the room with the alien. She then took a set of dry clothes into the room across from hers to change. She wasn't sure what it would think of a human, or if it even cared, but it felt better to change away from the obviously sentient creature that may wake up any second.

The room she was in was her work room. It was equipped with a reloading station, a work table, a waste bin by the table and another bookcase with nothing but informational texts. She put on a pair of jeans and a tank top. Taking the clothes she moved back into the room, dropping them off into a pile in the corner and resuming her place against the wall, handgun in her lap. She didn't take her eyes off of the sleeping alien.

She sat for hours, watching, waiting. Only when her legs began cramping did she stand up. She moved back downstairs to the pile of belongings of the now deceased Weyland punks. Among them she found what she was looking for, a thin phone, black. She found the number she was looking for, labeled under 'Frederick Smith."

"Mr. Jones?" said the voice on the other end after a single ring.

"Nope," Hannah stood and walked over to her door, "your people tried to kill me Smith. The deal's off," the phone was silent on the other end, "and the thing you were after, the 'meteor,' it's gone. It killed your men, spared me for whatever reason, and left on its ship, you can come back and get your people, but I want to be left alone, you understand? Alone, forever."

There was a sigh, it sounded disappointed, "I'm sorry that happened Miss Rousseau, it was not my intent—."

"I don't care Smith, I had a gun in my face and some_thing_ paint the side of my mountain red with _your_ men's blood. I don't know what's going on, I don't _want_ to know what's going on, okay? Just get up here, get your bodies and get the hell out of my life."

"Yes Miss Rousseau, I understand. I'm very sorry—."

She hung up the phone, looking at it and frowning. This man, Jones, he had other names in his contacts, including one under 'Wifey.' She felt her stomach twist and set the phone down, going back upstairs to check on her guest. She looked at the alien with doubts, wondering why she was even bothering really. It was still breathing evenly, its crab-like mandibles still loosely hanging about its face. She stepped into the sweltering heat and dropped down in her spot next to her gun.

The windows gradually grew dark. A wind had picked up and was rustling the trees, nearly drowning out the generator and the heavy breathing of the creature. A storm was brewing, which might bury the bodies in snow, but she wouldn't have been able to make the trek up and back five times before it got dark.

The digital clock read a little after ten by the time she actually looked at it with the notion of wanting to know what time it was. Otherwise her eyes were aimlessly wandering around. She looked over at the seven tanks of her various pets, most of which were in hibernation, though the heat might trick them out of it. Her eyes also wandered over the pictures on her wall, she could recognize her own face in most of them easily, and another woman with short spiked hair, fake blond, but with her eyes.

Then her eyes would move back to the creature, continuous back and forth, thoughts of turning the alien over to Weyland and get her life back to normal, but always convincing herself that it was better this way. She would take care of it until it was healed enough to leave. She wasn't stupid though, she had seen how easily it had killed the armed men. It was possible she was only alive because the second to last man had severely wounded it. Who knows what it might have done if it had lived to her being the last one standing.

This was dangerous, and she knew it, like taking care of a wounded tiger, or any predator for that matter, that knew no gratitude, only hunger. She wouldn't sleep that night; she didn't want to wake up to claws around her throat and sharp teeth at her face.

Outside, it began to snow.


	5. The Icicle

She had dozed off several times, but never actually fell asleep. Each time though she jolted up, feeling a chill down her spine, dark eyes shooting straight to the alien, expecting it to be gone. When the digital clock read five, she moved up from her spot, stretching out the cramps and moved over to the alien. While it was still unconscious, it had moved slightly, and one of its arms was hanging outside the blankets. She very gently moved the blanket over the outstretched limb that was missing two fingers. She wiped her arm across her brow, soaking in sweat. It was so hot in here it was hard to breathe.

She turned to move away, but some primal curiosity nudged at her very soul, and she looked back at the thing. It was obvious that it was supposed to have four of those mandibles, but scar tissue was all that remained of the bottom left one. Its face alone was rather scarred up, possibly from the same incident. Its eyes were still closed, set in deep black sockets. Its head was oblong, though the black fleshy dreadlock-like growths gave it the initial illusion of being round in shape. He was primarily green it seemed, with lighter tones radiating to darker, where it was then mottled with a deep purple color.

In a less panicked mind, she could almost admire the monster's looks, striking in a horrifying sort of way, but impressive in its own right. She didn't explore further, and turned her back to the alien. She moved through her house, put on her coat and stepped outside. She went to the shack and moved to a pile of orange cans. She lifted each one easily, frowning until she lifted one. She shook it, hearing liquid inside and moved back out to the generator. She turned it off long enough to pour more gasoline into it and started it up again.

She shook the now empty container and sighed, looking over at the shiny black truck under its blanket of snow. The only thing not covered was the cabin itself. She thinned her lips as she thought about siphoning the gas out of it, but ultimately turned away from the truck and went back inside. She peeked into the room ad saw that the alien hadn't moved. She gathered more clothes and put them on, dressing in several layers and boots.

She took the stained collapsible sled and made her way up the mountain. The blanket of snow here was thick, but she could find the bodies under the mounds of snow there. Taking them down the mountain and then going back up was nearly an all-day chore, especially since she went back into the house after every decent to check up on the alien, and it was getting dark as she was coming down the mountain with Dyson.

Another black truck was there when she arrived and she hesitated in her step before moving Dyson off the sled and kicking it away, the stain side flipping down into the snow. She moved the stiff body over to the others that were already being moved to the truck. She dropped Dyson down in the snow, glowering up at Smith.

"Here they are," she said coldly and stepped back, "take them and leave."

She turned away and a voice hit her back, "it's gone, correct?"

Hannah glowered over her shoulder, "yes," she hissed, "it's gone. Now leave me alone."

Smith frowned and looked down at Dyson's body, shaking his head, "tragic."

"I want you off my property in two minutes, you can mourn later," Smith gave her an incredulous look and she simply glowered.

"You don't care—?"

"They tried to kill me," she growled, "so no."

The Weyland group hurried with their grim task, one of the bodies being moved by two people, one with each half. Within the minute they were packed up. Smith moved to hop into the truck, gripping the handle above it, but hesitated and gave the woman one last sorry glance, before sliding in and shutting his door. The truck and the other truck were removed from her property. She sat on her porch for an hour afterwards, to make sure that they didn't return.

After darkness fell she moved back into the sweltering house, shedding the layers immediately and checked up on the alien again. It hadn't moved much since she last saw it. Its mandibles still hung loosely. Its pink mouth, reminiscent of something that would be out of a very disturbing porno, was still wide open.

She frowned and stepped back outside. She tended to the fire in the living room, adding more wood to it and looking at the low pile, mirroring the one upstairs. She made herself a simple meal of ramen from the left over water from two days ago, and ate in silent contemplation. Over and over she asked herself what she was doing, but in the end, she moved back upstairs to the room and sat down, watching over the alien.

The digital clock read three forty-three in the morning, and she had dozed. The heat of the room made her tired quickly, and she was going on two days without sleep. Her chin rested against her chest, breathing evenly. She jolted awake and looked wildly around, then over to the alien. It was gone. Her eyes widened and her hand gripped her gun. She slowly stood to her feet, aiming around the room, looking for it, remembering that it could turn invisible.

Her breath quickened, her body felt far too heavy. She tried to steady her breathing when the door opened by itself. She moved her gun and looked at it, but there was nothing to shoot. She slowly went outside, moving the gun barrel to the other door then the stairs. She took two deep breaths and moved down them, looking around. It was dark downstairs, the fire was missing. She kept her back to the wall, aiming into the kitchen, but it was pitch black inside. She wouldn't see it in there even if it wasn't invisible.

She felt herself panic, shivering as her breath came out in visible puffs of vapor. She felt like she was freezing, her skin turning blue even. Then she was lifted and thrown. She hit the cold fireplace with a cry drowned out by the animalistic roar. Her body wouldn't respond to her mind's orders to stand. She was lifted again and thrown against the opposite wall, crashing into several pictures and falling down among the shards of glass, cutting her to ribbons.

She felt a swift kick to her ribs, which sent her through the door, rolling down the stairs and into the snow. All she could do was cry out, her body refusing to move. Every limb felt like lead, she tried to crawl but couldn't so much as move a finger. Then she was pressed down, her face forced into the snow. She couldn't breathe, her lungs screaming for air, and just as it was getting to be unbearable her head was lifted by her hair. She was flipped onto her back, looking up at the gleaming red eyes of the alien as it roared at her.

She sobbed. It started choking her. She felt her body sink into the snow, further and further, into blackness, choking on slimy clawed hands.

Hannah jumped with a gasp, red light flooding her vision as she looked around. She was still in the room, the alien still in front of her, still unconscious. She gasped for air, a hand going to her neck as she curled her knees up to her chest. She made an uncomfortable noise, grimacing, then laid out on the floor. She focused on controlling her breathing, though in this heat it was impossible to truly get it back to normal.

Sighing, she moved up to her hands and knees and crawled quietly over to the cages. As she thought, the others had started coming out of hibernation, tricked into thinking the season had ended. A large fuzzy tarantula was scuttling across the ground looking for food. A thick serpent laid coiled in the corner of her cage, rattle still and silent. The tall cage's inhabitant blended in with its environment, and she only located the chameleon by noticing the one leaf in the tank that was breathing.

She would need to feed them. And she needed more gas for the generator. And she needed more firewood that she couldn't cut herself because she was babysitting. She sighed, taking Smaug out and resting him on her chest, petting him more as a comfort for her than for him, "I need to go to Troy," she whispered to the lizard, who tilted its head and looked at her. It cocked its head and turned its body, then it scuttled off and wandered around the bed. Hannah, perplexed, followed after him and saw him inspecting the alien.

The bearded dragon then showed why it was called such, the large spiky neck expanded like a balloon, red in color, and opened its triangular mouth wide. She looked between Smaug and the alien, then reached forward and scooped up the lizard. It didn't end its threat, continuing to bear its tiny teeth at the unconscious creature until it was out of sight. Only then did the dragon close its mouth, giving a small smack of its teeth and cocked its head at Hannah, as if asking her what she was doing with something like _that_ in her room.

She set the lizard back in its cage and shut it quietly. She stepped quietly around the alien, carrying another pair of clothes, looking at it and whispered, "please be here when I get back."

She stepped out and got dressed in her workroom. She went downstairs, threw the last of the logs onto the fire and put the guard back up. She pocketed her gun and took a set of keys out of the table by the window. The sky was grey as she stepped outside into the snow, shoving her hands into her pockets. She moved over to her rust bucket, threw all five gas cans into the back and slipped inside. It took a few tries to get it to start, but the truck roared to life, she made sure it was in four-wheel drive, and made her way down the mountain.

The road was covered in snow, itself hardly used. She didn't travel into the city if she could help it. It was steep in some areas, washed out by inclement weather, but she trusted her truck, it had never let her down so far. After much bumping and swaying, the tires suddenly found nice and even asphalt and she turned south. There wasn't much to see for several miles, but a small town soon came into view.

Troy, Montana, was the kind of town where nearly everyone knew everyone, except for the tourists. It was a great spot for hikers and outdoorsmen to have a place to return to after expeditions into the mountains. It was not a place she called home.

The town was still asleep by the time she rolled in, locating the only gas station that had a store open at this ungoldly hour. Her door squeaked as she opened it and slammed it shut, and she moved into the store, glancing at the sky turning a lighter shade of grey. She had this unshakeable sense of urgency to get back home.

Bundles of wood were set out in a large pile just beside the door, and she counted and made a note of how many she would be taking: all of them. She stepped in and felt a wave of warm hit her face. She sniffed slightly and looked around, seeing the man behind the counter and stomping her feet against the rug.

"Hey Mike," she said with about as much enthusiasm as the snow outside.

"Hello Hannah," the older man said with a wave, "you sure are out here early, you in trouble?"

"No," her voice came out bland and dull as she walked around the small store. There was a small TV in a corner of it, displaying the early morning news, warning of yet another snowstorm predicted to go through the area. Seemed her trip was well timed. Another storm like the last one will isolate her on the mountain for a while.

She found the small fridge of bait and opened it up, gathering several cups of mealworms and waxworms and loading them into her arms, "some of my critters came out of hibernation early," she said as customary small-talk.

"That's what happens when you keep animals like that as pets, their natural cycles get all messed up," Hannah nodded without looking at the man. She knew him well, light grey hair, dark grey eyes, face wrinkled by a perpetual, though honest, smile. She fidgeted slightly as she looked around for anything else that she might want or need. She didn't like making trips into town, so tried to get everything that she could every time that she _had_ to. She grabbed a half gallon of milk and moved to the counter.

"Is this everything for you Hannah?" Mike asked as he began scanning.

"I'm also gonna buy all your wood and fill up five cans of gas," Mike nodded, this wasn't a strange order coming from Hannah. The only reason he really knew her was because she had lived in the area for the last twenty-one years, and eventually those once-in-a-while trips add up.

"Alright Hannah, that'll be one-hundred and thirty-eight dollars and twenty-five cents."

Hannah didn't flinch at the number and pulled out of her pocket a thin wallet, pulling a credit card out of it with pictures of mountains, she swiped the card and began inputting her pin number. Something caught her ear though and she looked over at the TV. She put in the last two numbers and returned her focus to the monitor.

"Could you turn that up Mike?"

"After nearly a year of dispute Weyland Corp has won the long-standing lawsuit over the patent to its David project. Rival technology tycoon Yutani Corporation, claimed that they were the originators of the world's first every production of functioning androids and that Sir Peter Weyland had stolen the technology and blueprints from them. The lawsuit win comes after the tragedy Yutani Corporation suffered in Japan, with the loss of their main branch in Tokyo.

"Weyland Corporation had purchased the European Organization for Nuclear Research earlier in the year after they lost government funding. There are rumors that Weyland may seize the opportunity to acquire Yutani Corporation during their hard times."

"When did it become Weyland _Corporation_?" Hannah's brow furrowed, ignoring the rest of what the woman was saying.

"Almost seventeen years ago Hannah, you need to come off your mountain more often," Mike chuckled, but Hannah just made a small neutral noise and took her receipt from the man.

"Ellen's been asking about you, you know," Mike said as the woman walked towards the door, "she's worried about you living alone with those lizards."

"They're not monitors Mike, tell her I'll be fine," with a small ring of a bell, the door shut behind her, and she took to the task of filling up her gas cans and piling the wood into her truck.


	6. Cold Snap

Once Hannah reached the end of her road she hopped out of her truck and ran to the cabin without unloading anything. She ran, quietly, up the stairs and paused outside the door. She slowly turned the handle and peaked inside. The alien was still on the ground, still unmoved. She was beginning to think that its arm had only been outside of the blanket because the sled it was laying on was too small for it. She pondered her predicament, thinned he lips and shut the door reluctantly.

She went outside and unloaded the gas cans into the shack, taking one to the generator and shutting it down, filling it up, and turning it back on. She then unloaded all the wood from the truck and into her home, dividing the pile between the downstairs and carrying the other half up stairs. She quietly opened the door, took her boots off to be even quieter, and slipped inside.

She was slow and careful in placing the pile down, and adding a few logs to the fire, giving paranoid glances back at the alien, and wondered if she should have gotten some horse tranquilizer for it. But she knew that, without knowing the proper dose, she could just as easily kill it as keep it asleep.

She moved over to the alien, looking it over. The wheezing seemed to have subsided partially, and it didn't sound as painful. She felt gently along its crest, but she had no idea if infection had set in, if it was running a fever. She cursed herself for having not taken its temperature when she first brought it in, but it was too late now. She peeled the layers of blankets off of it very carefully and with the lightness of a feather, picked the edges of the bandages up and lifted them to see how the wounds were healing.

She was amazed.

She probably shouldn't have been. It was an extraterrestrial life form of which she had no idea what it was capable of, but the huge wound on its chest, which she was sure would have killed it from blood loss alone, was looking like it had been healing for a week. The smaller bullet wounds were nearly completely gone, and the cuts and scratches it had endured were completely gone. She didn't dare unwrap the leg, even if it was healing this quickly, the leg would still not be fully mended. She reset the bandages and looked it over, humming.

She left heading downstairs and outside without a coat, the cold punishing her instantly for her impatience. Small snowflakes flurried around her as she hurried to the shed and grabbed a coil of rope. She ran back to the house, shivering and shaking out her hair before moving back upstairs. She used towels around its shoulders and tied the ropes around the towels, looping the ropes around the headboard of her bed, creating a makeshift pulley system. If she could manage to get its torso onto the bed, she figured she could manage its legs. She guessed that it weighed over 300 pounds judging by dragging it up the stairs with the sled.

The bed groaned, she groaned, it was a pain, but the large torso of the alien finally laid on the bed. Sweating bullets, she moved to his legs and swung them onto the bed, hoping she hadn't aggravated anything. But this was a much larger and comfortable surface for it to lay on. She sighed and left the room with the sled, Taking it down the stairs and into the cold storage with the rest of the things that she didn't want found. She went to the kitchen and ran the hot water, wincing at the thought of how much energy she was using. She had no job, and was living off of the meager interest that her mother's life insurance money made in the bank.

She filled a bowl with hot water and used one of the towels from the pulley system, which were the only towels she had in the house, soaking it in the bowl before returning upstairs to the room. She looked reluctantly at the alien, but relented despite her apprehension and carefully began to wash him. She wasn't sure if it was needed, and wasn't looking forward to removing the metal shield between its legs to find out if it had a dormant metabolism in this coma-like state or not.

His whole body was riddled with scars, nasty ones. This thing had been through a lot, and she had to wonder what kind of life it led. Was it a criminal or a warrior? She thought that the latter was more likely by the way it fought. What kind of wars had it fought? How old was it? And most importantly, why was it here?

She finished cleaning around a thick scar across its stomach, like it had been gutted once, and looked at the metal thong. She inhaled and heaved a sigh before figuring out how the garment came off, and soon discovering that it was a he. She tried not to think too much about what she was doing as she cleaned the area and hastily put the thong back on.

Finished with his sponge bath she layered the blankets back onto him and relocated the lights. She was due for a bath herself, but she didn't want to be away from the alien longer than she had to. She gave herself a sponge bath as well across the hallway, both doors open just in case. She did away with the water and returned to the room, feeling a little refreshed but still very tired. She fed the critters in their cages, mealworms for the lizards, a thawed-out mouse from the freezer to the snake.

She monitored the critters, making sure each of them ate before she moved back to her spot against the wall, looking at the alien and wondering what she was going to do with herself if it remained like this for much longer. She couldn't imagine a year of this, especially since she expected Weyland Corporation would visit again soon.

Outside, the dark grey sky began to fall more violently. Large white flakes soon blocked out all vision a foot away from the window with the fury of the blizzard. All the possible outcomes that would end in her death came to mind, knowing that if the worst occurred, no one would find her for months, or even years.

She stood up after a couple hours of sentinel duty and headed downstairs for something more substantial to eat. She went into the cold storage and to the freezer, but paused, her hand on the white lid and looked over at a shelf. She moved over and leaned to reach behind it, grabbing the cold metal she felt and pulling out the alien's mask. It had a sever look by itself, the narrow slits of grey mesh-like material where his eyes were gave the appearance of ferocity. Cactus-like thorns adorned the brow ridges and the edge of the crest. It was damaged with scars of its own, claw and nicks along the edge.

She turned the mask over and looked at the inside, at the intricate tubes and wires all covered in a metal coat. She doubted that she would be able to even begin to understand how the thing worked, resisting the urge to try it on, knowing that it was far too large for her face. After a moment of deliberation, she put it away in its hiding place and went to the freezer.

She brought up a slab of meat and made herself a steak. The house smelled instantly of the meat thanks to the heat. She made herself a bit of hot chocolate to make her feel better. She moved over and looked at the calendar on her wall, sipping the hot beverage. Her brow furrowed and she reached forward, gently touching the calendar. She looked at her watch and looked at the date; December twelfth.

She frowned and marked the calendar to be up to date, having forgotten to do so because of her guest. She finished her drink and made her way back up the stairs. She paused a moment in the doorway. The alien had moved. His mandibles had gained some strength, now closed by themselves around his obscene mouth. His brow was furrowed, then relaxed, a single tusk clicking. He was more asleep now, less unconscious. It meant he was probably going to wake up soon.

She shut the door behind her quietly and slid down the wall, her hand finding her gun and placing it in her lap. The storm outside had not subsided. The hours ticked by, the alien was restless, making clicking noises only occasionally. She felt the familiar heaviness of sleep weigh on her shoulders and burn her eyes. She inhaled and made herself busy, moving towards the fire, moving the guard and throwing a log onto the fire. The second log was accompanied by a grunt and she froze. She shot back to the wall, hand grabbing her gun and flicking the safety off.

She turned towards the alien, watching as he shifted, moved, and grunted again. She couldn't see his eyes in profile, and wasn't sure if he was moving around in a nightmare or if he was awake. Her question was answered as he slowly sat up. The bed creaked as he gripped the blanket in a tight fist, tilting his head and inspecting it, clicking, then roughly pushing them all away.

He shook his head, dreads smacking his shoulders as he put a hand to his crest. He paused, probably realizing something was missing and he looked up, then around. Bright yellow eyes scanned over to her and froze. He snarled and moved, just as she lunged forward shouting, "no don't!"

The alien flexed his arm, holding it at an angle then looked at his arm. His weapons were gone. He roared again and stood up, then crumpled to the floor. She flinched and moved over to the other side of the bed and looked at the alien. He had landed on one knee, bracing himself against the wall and looked at his leg.

He made a rattling noise and lifted his head to look at her. His mandibles clicked in warning and she held out her hand, a sign to wait, one he understood it seemed because he shifted back on his weight, but he gave a glance to her weapon and back to her, his brow furrowing.

"Look, look," she said and she moved the gun, sliding it away from her. When she looked back the alien's mandibles spread and he roared at her face. While the roar had been startling, what concerned her more was his breath, it wasn't a pleasant scent and she coughed slightly and furrowed her own brow.

"Enough of that!" she yelled and smacked her hand against the ground to get her point across and his mandibles returned to their neutral position, clicking as his head tilted, "your leg is broken," she said, then said again slowly pointing at his leg, "your leg," she then moved her hands in the air like she was breaking a stick in half, "broken."

The alien looked at his leg, moving to settle back, one leg crossed underneath him as he moved his wounded leg and rubbed a hand against it, feeling the splint she had made. She sighed and stood up, earning a sharp glare from the alien who looked at her outstretched hand. He grunted and she moved her hand to point at the bed. He looked at the destination she indicated and growled, lifting himself up using the edge of the bed and the wall. She reached forward instinctively to help it but it grunted at her. He seemed to have understood though, and was keeping weight off of his leg.

He sat unceremoniously on the bed, making it groan, and he looked over at her. She understood the silent notion perfectly, 'now what?'

She sighed and stepped back away from the bed, and the alien growled at her, looking pointedly at the weapon that she was unintentionally moving closer to. She held her hands up in a gesture of peace and sighed.

"Look, I know you don't understand a word I'm saying," she said and bent down to her gun. It watched, glowering, as she lifted the weapon and slipped the clip out holding the two pieces separately, "but welcome to Earth."


	7. Black Ice

She was learning many things now that her guest was awake. He drank water, lots of water, and seemed to not like the taste of water but drank it anyway. After the second trip up and back with a glass of water she had returned with the largest bowl she could find full of water, which he was now nursing. He had been perplexed by Smaug, who Hannah had taken out and put on her shoulder as a focal point to keep herself sane.

The bearded dragon would hiss at the alien every time he was in view, spreading out his bright beard imposingly. Hannah couldn't figure out why the lizard was being so aggressive, he was the most docile creature she had ever met, but the alien didn't seem offended by it at all, so she didn't think much on it.

One of the first things the creature 'asked' was the whereabouts of his weapons by indicating his wrist and tilting his head at her. She attempted to inform him that she hid them by indicating his same wrist, then taking her hand and hiding it under one of the blankets. The alien then lifted and searched the blankets probably expecting to find one of his possessions, causing Hannah to hide a smile, by busying herself with the fire.

This pantomiming made-up-on-the-spot sign language was entirely frustrating, but it was going to have to do since neither of them spoke the other's language. Hannah doubted she would even be able to replicate the complicated clicking and rattling that the alien used. She could feel Smaug's inflated spiky throat against her shoulder, causing her to shake her head and nudge her cheek against him in a half-hearted reprimand.

She put the guard back up against the fire and wiped the sweat from her brow, "hot as hell, I hope the jolly green giant's comfortable," she said to Smaug and turned, glancing at the alien who was drinking from the bowl again. He noticed her glance and ran his clawed fingers against his chest in a pinching motion before opening his empty hand and tilting his head.

She figured he was asking about his mesh clothes and she made the 'hidden' sign again with the blanket. This time he didn't look and just took another drink from the bowl, making another grimacing expression and looking at the remaining water. It was tough for him; there wasn't any purer water anywhere in the world, except maybe the arctic.

Maybe that was the problem, maybe the tap water with the hard minerals and such from the city would be more to his liking. She wouldn't be able to test for a while. She was pretty sure her door was half-buried by now. Moving towards the bed caused the alien to tense and glower at her, never blinking, but she pretended not to notice and adjusted the red lights to focus more on him in his new upright position. He tilted his head, holding his hand up as if holding the light in his palm, curling his fingers into a fist. She took it as an accepting gesture and moved away from the bed again.

She cleared off the nightstand to give him a place to set down the bowl so that he wasn't holding it all the time. There was definitely something wrong with his chest though. The wheezing hadn't fully gone away, and she saw him wince and rub his chest every now and then. She still didn't know what she could do for him. She could call up a doctor once the snow thinned, but she was sure she didn't have enough money to buy a doctor's silence.

She moved out of the room, hearing a growl behind her and looked over her shoulder, he had done this every time she left and she couldn't understand why, but he sat there, growling, obviously angry about something as he glowered at her back. She ignored him again and moved downstairs. Now it was time to find out what he wanted to eat. She figured he was carnivorous, if his teeth were any indication, but she knew better than to assume. Smaug's mouth was full of tiny sharp teeth, and he was an omnivore.

Petting the lizard's spiky back she headed back into the kitchen. The light fixture above gave of very clean bright white light, showing the dragon's orange, yellow and red coloring much better than under the red lights. She set him down on the counter, not wanting to take him down into the cold storage, and moved down. She returned with a piece of meat, which she cooked long enough only for it to be thawed. She put the meat in a bowl and with a bowl in hand fetched some of the kale lettuce from her stash of things for Smaug.

The lizard was picked up and put back on her shoulder and she moved upstairs with the two bowls. The alien appeared to be examining the room it was in, before being distracted by her approach. Every look and gesture he made was always swift and sharp, almost like everything was a reflex, it always gave her a bit of pause and a sense of danger. He tilted his head and rattled, looking at the bowls in Hannah's hands. She lifted the both of them and stepped inside, carefully approaching and holding out the two bowls.

"This one," she said lifting the bowl of meat, "or this one?" she said, lifting the bowl of lettuce. She felt Smaug flare up again but ignored the dragon. The alien looked at her then leaned to his side, towards Hannah. His mandibles flared and he breathed in deeply, wheezing and moving back, rubbing his chest. But he lifted his hand and snatched the raw meat right out of the bowl. Hannah blinked a couple times in shock as he tore a strip off of the meat and ate it raw, his mandibles flicking around the inner mouth, the same way a crabs mandibles flickered when it would eat.

"Okay you like it raw," she said and turned to take both bowls back down. The alien gave her another scathing glare and growl but distracted himself with eating more of the meat. By the time she came back up, drying off her hands the meat was gone, and he was looking at her in a way that she would consider 'expectantly.'

Her eyes widened, "more!?" she probably should have guessed, it was such a large creature, it would need a lot of protein to power that kind of body. Sighing in defeat she turned, earning another growl and whipped around, pointing warningly at the alien. He made a chattering noise and regarded her finger, she stepped away from the alien and turned to go downstairs and get more meat.

She had all four burners on and quite a bit of meat thawing. This time she would prepare several steaks, better to have too much than not enough; she would eat whatever he didn't.

"I'm going to have to hunt constantly if this keeps up," she said petting the lizard. She was half-hoping that this voracious appetite came from his three days of unconsciousness, and was not his usual diet. But she was fairly certain this was going to be the normal amount he would eat daily. She would work through her freezer very quickly. She would probably have to hunt a deer a day just for him. She began to plan the conservation of her herds, which ones could afford being hunted more, and which ones she could only take just one or two from.

If she wanted to trek further than her mountain and the couple of mountains surrounding she could maybe find the elk, and maybe feed her guest for two days instead of one. This seemed like a good plan, when the weather was a little better. If she had to leave while the snow was deep, it was going to have to be deer.

"We're going to have to be frugal Smaug," she said, stroking the lizard's spiny beard, "just until he leaves."

She returned to the room with the large bowl she had previously used for water, now full of bloody raw meat. The alien was looking intently over at something, glancing at her and the bowl of meat. It rattled again and extended his hands receiving the meat and began eating. He looked over to his previous point of interest as he stripped the meat. Eventually he pointed and Hannah looked over at the deer skull.

"Deer," she said and he looked at her, tilting his head, "deer," she replied, pointing, then put a hand on her chest, "mine. I hunted it."

His mandibles flickered again as he fed himself another strip of meat, then pointed at the skull and then turned his hand, palm facing up. He wanted to see it. She moved over and reached up, standing on her toes and unhooked the mount from the wall. He wiped his fingers clean on his skin and held out his hand. She realized she was giving him a potential weapon just as he took the antlered skull out of her hands. She tensed as he looked it over, clicking and rattling, touching the skull gently, reverently almost. He ran his fingers along the antlers, fingering the points as if testing the sharpness. He then turned it over and looked at the underside of the skull, touching the teeth.

He grunted and handed the skull back, seemingly displeased about something. She took offense, unsure of why she was offended, but moved and put the skull back on the wall. She turned and saw him pointing again and followed his gaze to a small black bear skull. She looked back at him, his yellow eyes focused on her, turning his hand up. She sighed, relenting and moved to the skull, taking it down and handing it back to him, feeling a bit better with this one as the skull was less dangerous.

He inspected it with the same careful scrutiny, touching the brow and the sockets of the animal, then turning it over and touching the teeth. He looked up at her, again with that sharp deliberate movement.

"Bear," she said and he looked at the skull again. He pointed at it, then at her, "yes, mine, I hunted it."

He looked back at the skull before extending his hand, returning it to her. He seemed more pleased about this one. She didn't get it, vaguely connecting his fascination with the skulls with the different ornaments that she had removed from him, but wasn't entirely sure what sort of connection it was. The skull was too large to make a necklace out of, well, maybe not for him.

She turned her back to him to put the skull back on the wall and she jumped, startled as he roared at her, but also because her own voice yelled at her, "enough of that!" as he smacked the bed. She was quiet, looking at him as he shifted back on the bed.

"You speak English?" she said quietly.

"Speak English?" her voice, growlish and a bit deeper than her tone, repeated back at her from somewhere behind the mandibles and he tilted his head. Hannah's shoulders fell despite herself at the revelation that he was just parroting her. Still, he had the capability of parroting, which she could use to set up some form of communication with him, and he had used the words in context. It was at the very least promising.

"Enough of what exactly?" she asked but didn't get an answer. She sighed and turned, getting a growl and looked back at him again, his mandibles flaring. She furrowed her brow and turned her shoulder so that her back was to him, but could keep him in sight. He snarled and flared his mandibles wide. He didn't like her turning her back to him. She turned so that she was facing him and stepped back rather than turning. Once she felt the wall against her shoulder she turned only so, so that she could put the skull back up.

Satisfied, he went back to eating. Her life was going to be difficult if she had to walk backwards everywhere around the alien. Maybe it was something she could negotiate with him eventually. She scooted around the bed, keeping her back to the wall until she stepped out of the room, the alien watching her movements with an intense stare but continued eating. She moved backwards into the hallway, and then carefully down the stairs, the alien leaning over to watch her until she was out of sight.

Letting out a heavy breath, she moved to the living room and plopped down in the chair in front of the fire. She looked at the flames, shifting out of the chair to add more wood and went back to the chair to think.

She was honestly surprised that the alien trusted her so willingly to drink and eat what she gave him. Ifs he woke up in a strange place, injured, being served by a strange creature, she wouldn't have eaten or drank anything she was given unless she was near death. Maybe it wasn't trust, maybe it was confidence, or maybe he could just tell that what she was giving it wasn't drugged. Whatever the reason, she was at least thankful. Hopefully he was on a speedy road to recovery, and she could take him back to his ship and he could leave and hopefully never come back.

She pulled the fleece throw from the back of the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, having gotten rather used to the intense heat of her room. She stroked Smaug's back gently and nuzzled his head with her cheek. He tilted his head but otherwise didn't react. She folded her arms across her chest and heaved a sigh.

She was going to have one hell of a time.


	8. Numb

She hadn't slept. She was pretty sure that the alien didn't either. The difference was she had spent the night in a chair, and he had her large comfortable bed. She stretched out her back, causing several pops and a groan. She looked at the stairs, then at the window. Walking to the window and pulling back the curtains revealed snow. It was packed against the glass. She frowned and made her way back up the stairs to her room. The alien appeared to have moved around as much of the bed as he could, but hadn't actually left it.

He looked at her with some disdain, or it looked like disdain. She really couldn't tell if his facial expressions meant the same thing that hers did. Like how nodding meant 'yes' in America but 'no' in Greece. The growling wasn't helping, as he seemed to make the noise no matter what sort of mood he was in.

This was going to be a journey, and she found herself really wanting it to be over soon. She moved towards the bed and he looked at her, tensing as she came close, causing her to freeze. She frowned and pointed at his leg. He looked at his leg then at her. She moved forward again and reached for his leg. He didn't move away, but watched her intently. She made deliberate and obvious motions to unwrapping the bandage and moving the wooden spoons.

The sudden appearance of his hand against his calf caused her to jump, which made him freeze and watch her. Both waited for something to happen. He was the first to move, returning to inspecting his leg, rubbing the wound where the bone had ruptured the skin. He rattled again and began to press and prod his leg, adding pressure until he roared suddenly.

"Well don't do that!" she said smacking his hands away from his legs. He grunted at her and watched as she took his leg back over and rewrapped it. He didn't stop her or try to do it himself, but just watched. Once she got the splint back on she looked up at him and pointed at his chest. His clawed hand rubbed against it, tilting his head and looking at her.

She moved but stopped, realizing that, not knowing if the facial expressions meant the same thing or not, she had no way of pantomiming 'pain.' She lost herself in thought, trying to figure out how to explain what she meant, and debated parroting his roar, when Smaug, previously forgotten on her shoulder, hissed loudly. She glanced at Smaug and froze. The alien had leaned down to observe her, very closely, and his mandibles were close enough that if he spread them, they'd touch her face. She moved away cautiously, stepping away from the bed, giving him a cautious look, then folded her arms in thought. She looked up at the alien as he grunted at her. He moved his arm and touched his back, then made the gesture that had commonly come to be known as 'where is?'

She made the gesture for 'hidden' again, and he extended his hand and turned his palm up in the 'give' gesture. She hesitated, looking at his open hand. She then turned, and he growled at her, so she flipped back around and backed out of the room. She made it to the stairs and moved down to the cold storage. She struggled for the backpack thing she had hidden behind the canned foods. Once she had it she moved back up, gathered Smaug from the back of the chair and moved back up the stairs.

She moved forward and handed him the backpack thing and he didn't grab it. She blinked, brow furrowing as he looked over the backpack, and then looked at her in an expression that was maybe surprise.

"What?" she asked with a shake of her head.

He didn't respond, but instead took the backpack away from her and laid it on the bed, round-side up. He touched it very gently with his claws, and the backpack opened up. Hannah found herself staring with curiosity. There were things inside the pack, that looked vaguely medical in purpose, but she wasn't going to assume. His black claws trailed along various instruments before taking out something that looked like a scalpel. She watched as he inspected the blade and then leaned back. Too late did Hannah cry for him to stop.

He cut himself, making an incision in his chest, horizontally. Bright thick glowing green blood pooled out across his skin and onto the bed. Hannah backed away to the wall, knowing there was nothing she could do now but watch the train wreck. He was roaring, obviously in pain. Once the incision was made he heaved breaths, and dropped the scalpel back into the kit. He then pulled out plier-looking things and dug these into the newly made wound, roaring again. There was a solid click and he removed the pliers and heaved another breath, slowly putting these in the kit as well.

He finally removed some cylindrical thing and applied it to one side of the wound. There was a heavy clicking, and he moved the cylinder down, and Hannah could see he was essentially stapling the wound closed. Once he was finished, he put these back into the kit, looking them over and taking heavy breaths. He searched the sparse equipment and pulled out a syringe that was empty and slammed it back down, growling. He closed the kit with a touch of his claws and sat still for a moment, heaving.

Hannah was shivering from how tight her muscles were. Her breathing was heavy and shaky, unbelieving of what she had just witnessed. The alien grunted and looked over at her, regarding her unmoving figure before moving the backpack and setting it onto his shoulders.

He was going to keep it, and she was not going to fight him for it.

It took a minute after the overall completion of the alien's self-surgery before Hannah moved away from the wall. The movement drew the alien's attention as it took deep heavy breaths. He shifted on the bed, tilting his head and she glanced at the door. So did he. He became tense suddenly, as if ready to spring, waiting for her move. She ignored her instincts and forced herself to walk to the fire, and put more logs on the coals.

Only after a minute did she get upset at the fact that there was green phosphorescent blood staining her bed. She glowered over at the bed, the alien preoccupied with looking at the room, and seemed to have half a mind to try getting up again. He was still recovering from what he had done to himself; apparently he didn't have any pain killer in that kit of his. She wasn't about to have him try out hers. She thinned her lips, holding in a yell and pointing at him, then gesturing to the bed, before clenching her fist tight. She realized that she really couldn't do anything about it now, and that blowing up at him could result in her death. She needed to remove herself from the area, so backed up, basically moon-walking out of the room.

She went downstairs, deposited Smaug on the chair and threw on her coat and gloves. She opened the door to the wall of white and took a breath. She dug a tunnel into the snow and used her memory to navigate around the cabin. The cold helped cool her temper, and gave her something to do. Just because there was an injured alien in the house didn't mean that she could skip her chores.

She followed the roar of the generator to its location and cleared it free of snow. It would be good for another day before she would need to worry about filling it up again. She then went around the house in a circle to the ladder secured against the northern facing side and half-climbed, half dug her way up. She broke the surface not very far above her head and climbed up. The warmth of the cabin was doing a good job of melting the snow on the roof, but she didn't want to risk a cave in, so got to work clearing the snow off.

As she worked she heard a window open and blinked, moving to the edge and then around the edge until she found the red window. The alien was leaning out, breath creating heavy clouds around his face as he leaned out and looked around at the winter wonderland. She bent down and called down, "hey!"

The alien perked up and looked around before glancing over its shoulder up at her on the roof. It turned to face her normally, clicking and steaming.

"Get back inside!" the alien grunted and looked out at the snow again, gripping the windowsill and leaning even further out the window, dreadlocks falling across his shoulders. Hannah knelt down on the roof and took of her glove. She leaned as far down as she could and swung the glove, the fingers smacking against his back, and then his face. He snorted and stumbled back in. She heard crashing and froze, then she bit down on the glove and bent over the roof, twisting her body to descend feet-first.

She hung from the edge of the roof and caught the bottom of the window with her boot. She eased herself down to a perch on the windowsill and saw the alien lying on the ground on his back. She hopped inside breathing heavily and sniffing, moving over to the alien and leaning over it. This was a stupid thing to do, she realized later, but it didn't do anything but look up at her from the floor. She left him there and shut the window, shedding her other glove and coat and reaching down, touching his shoulder.

"Come on you, back in bed," he flinched away from her touch and sat up, running his claws over the splint and jerking his hand away as she smacked his fingers, "stop that," he pushed her away, but not roughly, and pulled himself back into the bed, making it creak and groan under his weight. She smacked her thighs and folded her arms, "you need to stay off your leg," she said and he tilted his head.

"You," she pointed, "stay off your leg," she finished, pointing at her own right leg as she lifted it off the ground without even wobbling. He tilted his head to the other side, and the upper mandibles he had flared slightly. It was a new expression, but it almost looked like smiling. She dropped her foot and pointed at him again, "are you hungry?"

His mandibles returned to normal and he rattled as she made a motion of putting something in her mouth after pointing at him. He shook his head with a grunting noise and she dropped her hands, hoping that this meant 'no.' She pointed at his water bowl, to which he grabbed and handed to her with a short single downward nod. Hoping she was interpreting these things right she backed out of the room, kicking her coat behind her as she went, and returned with warm water for him. He took the bowl and drank some before setting it on the nightstand for later.

He looked at her again and put his hand over his face; 'mask where?'

'Hidden,' she gestured and he made the motion for 'give.' She hesitated, not sure what the mask was capable of. He saw her hesitate and put his hand on his face again, apparently their new word for 'mask' and then his hand moved to his mouth and then his chest, and he took a deep breath. This proved a bad idea as he wheezed suddenly and began coughing.

She reflexively moved forward, but the fit was over before she could do anything, and he looked at her waiting for an answer. She gave him the same single nod he had shown her and move downstairs. She slipped out and gently handled the well-worn mask. She moved back upstairs and handed it over to him. He accepted it and put it onto his face with reverence, showing her the two tubes on the side before plugging them in, one after another, causing a small hissing noise.

He then looked at her, and she found the cold soulless mask more pleasant to look at. Thinking about it a while as he looked at her, tilting his head, she got his message. It was helping him breathe. He needed a moister atmosphere, that's why the tubes produced a mist. Nodding to herself she moved to leave the room, pausing as she notice he was watching her intently. She narrowed her eyes and made sure to back out of the room, scooping up the coat and moving downstairs again. She hung the coat up and picked up Smaug, putting him on her shoulder and stroking his back.

She stood behind the chair, eyes unmoving from an undiscerning spot on the wall as she was lost in thought. At the rate he was healing, he could probably begin walking around a bit. She could maybe help him out by making a crutch, but she'd have to go out and cut some limbs for that, she would have to do that at the same time that she was able to go hunting.

She heard a noise and turned, looking up the stairs at the alien who was standing on just one leg, clawed toes dragging against the floor, bracing himself against the wall, looking down as if trying to figure out how to navigate the stairs this way before looking at her as she stormed up towards him.

"No! Bad Jolly Green Giant, go back to the bed!" he didn't move away from the landing, leaving her on the stairs, that much shorter than him than normal. He ignored her pointing and tilted his head, watching as she huffed and put a hand to his stomach, trying to push him back but it was like pushing a boulder. She relented and raised her arm, pointing in a demanding fashion and suddenly had the alien's huge hand over the top of her head. She froze, but he didn't do anything. She then realized he was short-handing her. His message was clear: she couldn't _make_ him do anything.

She stood rooted to the spot, realizing he could probably break her neck with a simple flick of his wrist. But then his hand moved away, claws raking against her scalp, causing a shudder to go down her spine. He then turned and went back into the room as she ordered, and she heard the bed groan. She blinked and took in a breath when her lungs started to burn for air. She swallowed and took the final two steps up and peered around the corner. He was resting on the bed, touching and inspecting the splint before reaching up and taking off his mask. He set this on the nightstand and took his backpack off and set it down beside the bed, his yellow eyes flashing up at her for a moment, void of malicious intent but full of pride.

He then did something amazing. He shifted in the bed, laid his back down against it and was still. He was going to go to sleep. She blinked, hand resting on the corner of the stairwell, looking in on the alien as his breath deepened in a fashion unique to sleep.

She took a step back and backed down the first two steps before pausing on the stairs and blinking. The small space between her lips closed and she felt something fill her, something like calm, and determination. She realized that she was no longer afraid of the alien, he was still dangerous yes, but he just had the opportunity to kill her and didn't, and he trusted her to do him no harm either. Was this a show of truce? If it was, she was also going to have to give in a little.

She made up her mind and headed back downstairs. She put Smaug down on the chair and went back upstairs, tiptoeing, to grab her coat. She put on as many layers as she could, including her scarf, and then went back out into the snow.


	9. Breaking the Ice

When the alien woke up, Hannah was already in his room. He sat up and watched her as she worked, eventually putting on his mask to breathe better. She had spent the day yesterday hunting down meat and branches. She had come home and tried to sleep as much as she could in the chair that was not meant to be slept in. When early morning came, she gathered the sticks from her living room floor and moved herself to the warm room upstairs.

She had cut and tied together a crude sort of crutch. It was crutch-shaped, and approximately his size. He was watching her as she tied off the final chord and held it up and examined it, tapping it against the floor before standing and putting her own weight on it, even jumping up to see if it would collapse under her full weight, dropping back to the ground before she fell down.

"Hey Jolly, try this," she said to the alien, approaching the bed. The alien looked at it, then at her. He grabbed the crutch and looked it over, feeling along the sticks, the bark smoothed away. He moved to the edge of the bed and stood, putting the weight on the crutch and his good foot, lifting the injured leg off the ground. Seemed he had the basic idea of how it worked and figured out that it was not a cane.

She attempted to direct him to show that the top part, wrapped in the towel, went under his arm. She wasn't sure if she was nay help or if he had figured it out on his own, but he eventually tucked the thing under his arm, and began getting used to moving around with it. He was quiet for being so heavy, she really only heard the crutch as it fell on the ground. It took him just a minute to get it coordinated before the red mask turned to look at her.

She gestured for him to come and backed out of the room. He followed willingly and she led him to the stairs, "this way Jolly," she said, gesturing to the handrail for him to use. He looked over, and then around, bending slightly and extending his hand, reaching out and finding the handrail as if he couldn't see it. She gave him a confused expression before moving down as he started making his descent.

She was convinced that if he fell, she could do little more than get squished, but she remained two steps in front of him at all times until he made the landing. He looked around instantly, rattling, as if looking for someone else, then focused on her. She was the only one there, well, besides the lizard. He tilted his head and she sighed, "yeah, I'm alone," she turned, almost putting her back to him and quickly corrected herself but he hadn't noticed. He moved around, exploring the large room. She put more wood on the fire, getting his attention for just a second.

She put the lizard back on her shoulder and folded the throw over the back of the chair. She looked over and saw him touch one of the pictures on the table beneath the snow-covered window.

"That's my mother," she said, knowing he didn't understand. He looked at her then back at the picture, his red mask reflected in the visage of a woman, short blond hair styled up, brown eyes glittering, wearing a grey fleece jacket with her arm around the shoulder of a teen, brown hair down to her shoulders, pearly grin with matching eyes.

He moved his hand away from the pictures and explored some more. He was going to be sorely disappointed, the cabin was sparsely furnished, the basics. It didn't take him very long to circle the room, and he looked over at her, who was watching him. He pointed at various skulls and then to her, asking if they were hers. She nodded to most of them, but shook her head to a few, but didn't know how to pantomime 'mother.'

"Come on Jolly, I got food for you," she said gesturing. He followed after a second, watching her moonwalk into the kitchen. He perked up when he saw the gutted deer on the long island and moved in with a bit more pep in his step.

"All yours," she said, sweeping her arm over the animal and pointing to him. He looked at the animal and then at her. He bent and touched his leg then gestured 'where.'

'Hidden,' she said and before he could finished the gesture for him to give it back, she moved to the door on the other side of the kitchen and opened it up. She went down the stairs and was honestly surprised when he followed her into the cold. She turned so that her back wasn't to him and walked backwards down the stairs, feeling along the walls. His breath was almost instantly visible and he looked around.

She moved around the room and reached behind the shelves, pulling out the dagger he had asked for in its sheath. She handed it to him and he took it in his hand, looking it over and then around.

"Yes it's all here," she said sighing. She didn't really want to rearm him, less now because she thought he would do her harm and more because she was afraid that once he had all his things, he would leave. She wasn't sure why this filled her with dread, maybe because all that hard work would likely die once he set foot outside; maybe it was fear that while he might be grateful, the rest of his race might take offense to the way he was treated by Weyland, and whoever was before Weyland. What if he was someone important to their species?

That seemed unlikely, why, then, would he be alone? Unless whoever it was that got to him before he got to her mountain had killed his escort party.

The alien tilted his head and looked around, rattling softly before he made the same gesture again, asking about his mesh cloth thing. She went immediately to where she hid it and brought it out. He then gestured to his left arm, circling the whole forearm, and she went to retrieve the thick bracer that had the device attached to it.

He looked at her holding it and looked to the stairs, then to her, before turning towards the stairs. She murmured something about hypocrisy but followed, looking at his back. He struggled up the stairs and into the kitchen, moving out to the living room and up the other stairs, grunting and growling along the way, something that seemed like he was complaining to himself. Once he got to the room he hopped in, set the mesh on the bed and held his hand out for the device.

She handed it over and he sat on the bed, setting the crutch aside. He turned the device over, parting the sides of the brace and held it so that she could see the underside. There were three smooth circular plates lined along the bottom. He flipped the lid of the device and touched five red screens. It flashed bright red symbols at him before he deliberately set the device on the mesh, making sure she was watching.

She was, but didn't understand. He motioned with his hand, the same motion she used to get him to follow, and took her hand. It felt almost clammy, and she resisted the urge to pull away. He then put her hand against the mesh and she blinked.

It was very warm, almost too hot to touch and she pulled slightly against his grip. He let her go willingly and watched her carefully as if to gauge her reaction. She gently rubbed the red spot where the skin had been against the mesh and looked from it to him.

"I see," she said and let go of her hand.

He grunted at her and jerked his head towards the door. She left immediately, getting that he wanted his privacy while he dressed. She went down the stairs and petted Smaug, who seemed to be getting used to his new perch. The alien was soon down stairs again, dressed in his mesh with the device on his wrist and the dagger on his left calf.

He gave her a passing glance before moving into the kitchen to eat the deer she had offered him. She walked in after him, watching him cut choice meats from the animal and eat it raw. He looked over at her then the deer, and moved a hand over where the head should have been. He was interested in seeing the skull, but it was in the bathroom in the blood-soaked tub. She indicated vaguely where it was and he seemed satisfied and continued eating.

He ate about as much as she thought he would. She showed him how to work the sink so that he could get his own water and got to work cutting the rest of the meat.

The alien toyed with the sink, turning on and off the water and testing it with his hand. He figured out by himself that one handle was for cold water and the other was for hot. He grunted and looked back at her, some water cupped in his hand and grunted again.

She looked up at him, sharp fillet knife making short work of the carcass. He looked at the water then back at her.

"Water," she said looking away and heard him repeat the word in her voice. Then something guttural, and so deeply toned she couldn't at first hear the difference in syllables, came from his direction. She looked up, knife blade still as he looked at her. There was a moment of silence before he repeated.

"_Ju'dha_."

She blinked, entirely understanding but unsure of what was going on.

"Juda," she repeated and he rattled at her.

"_Ju'dha_."

"Judha?"

"_Ju'dha,_" he repeated a little slower, showing that there was a brief pause between 'ju' and 'dha.'

"Chuu'dhha," she tried again, emphasizing each syllable and making sure she had the pause right. He nodded once and tilted his hand, the cupped water flowing over his fingers. She set down the knife and stared at him for a bit, watching him as he looked at her, tilting his head and rattling. He had a verbal language, one much easier to deal with than the clicking and rattling that she had no hope of replicating. She blinked once then cleared her throat. She pointed at herself and said, "Hannah."

"Hannah," her voice repeated to her and she nodded.

"Hannah," she said again and pointed at her chest, then she pointed at him, he grumbled something and she sputtered. He tilted his head again and repeated.

"_Jar-hidda_," his tone was so low, it was really difficult to tell the difference between syllables, but this one had a longer pause in it than water. It was confusing, with these pauses, where was the difference between words?

"Jar-hidda," she repeated, making sure to add the slightly longer pause in the name. It seemed her first try was acceptable and he gave a nod. She smiled, excitement welling in her chest.

"Knife," she said, holding up her fillet knife.

"_Da_," well that one was easy enough.

"Deer," he said moving his hand indicating the corpse and she nodded, unsure of how he knew without its head, it being the only part of it he had seen previously.

He picked up one of her cuts and growled, "_amedha._"

"Amedha," meat, apparently, or maybe it meant 'piece.' She wasn't sure, but she suddenly felt like life was going to get at least a little easier. The rest of the day was spent exchanging words. Basic things, nouns mostly, things that they could point at and show to each other. But he had given words to certain chores he observed her doing like _kuo'I_ or 'cutting' and _reck-vet_ or 'eating.' It was a start, though it seemed more like he was teaching her his language rather than her teaching him hers.

Once darkness fell over the cabin, Jar-hidda retired. He didn't say anything when he did, just moved and left up the stairs. She watched him go, moved to the chair, or _himo_ as he called it, and sighed happily. She sat down and thought. With how quickly he was healing, he would eventually leave. She'd have to show him where she found him, which she was assuming was where his ship was, in the cave. Red-Hair Cave. Her mother's cave.

She frowned, reaching up and detaching Smaug from her chair and attaching him to her shoulder, "things are going to be moving quickly from here Smaug," she said, petting him gently, "we'll be alone again soon."


	10. Snowmelt

"Hannah," a voice grunted and she felt something hot on her shoulder. The woman winced, furrowing her brow and turning away. There was another grunt and a rougher shake of her shoulder.

"What do you want Jolly?" She groaned, pulling her blanket tighter. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, and ignored Smaug's hissing.

Jar-hidda grunted again, then roared. Hannah jumped from her chair, falling to the ground and scrambling back, eyes looking wildly and landing on the blurry image of the alien on his crutch. His expression made him seem pissed off, no, that was definitely a pissed of look. He was very upset.

"What'd I do!?" she yelled struggling with the fleece blank which had tangled her up. The alien grunted, his mandibles partially folding and clicking against each other in an irritable fashion. She finally wrestled out of the blanket and stood to her feet, sweeping her hair out of her face.

"What, what do you want!?" she spread her arms wide, palms up.

The alien growled and reached down, tugging at his loincloth. Hannah blinked, eyes widening. What on earth was he asking for? He couldn't really be asking for…? She scanned him over, seeing the tightness of his muscles, shuddering slightly and he bent in half. He was in obvious discomfort, leaning heavily on the crutch and breathing heavily for a moment before he recovered and looked up at her.

She blinked, looking over him again, then noted the way that his knees were bent inwards.

"Oh… oh!" he had to _go._

Three days of unconsciousness and with how much water he had been drinking, she was surprised this hadn't happened sooner. She moved around the chair and moved to the door on the wall on the other side of the stairs. She opened the door and moved out of his way.

Normally, the bathroom was cold, and unused. She didn't like running the electricity, so the plumbing didn't work. She had an outhouse outside for most of the time. But since the electricity was running, and they were snowed in, it would have to do.

He didn't seem to agree. He took up much of the bathroom, looking around then at her. She moved over and pulled up the lid and seat of the white porcelain toilet and moved out again. Jar-hidda looked at what she had moved and reached forward, running a hand over the bowl then looking at her again like it was asking what the hell he was supposed to do with it.

He moved out of the bathroom and pointed to the window. She was frustrated because he was frustrated, "you want to go outside?" She asked and moved to the door. He followed after her but winced back when the door opened and the cold came in. He rose an arm like he was protecting himself, then stepped forward.

The tunnel she had dug yesterday had caved in, at least where the door was concerned. The heat coming from the house had melted about a foot of snow around the cabin.

Jar-hidda reached forward at his shoulder height and scooped out a handful of snow from the wall. It began melting almost immediately as he brought it in to look at it, knuckles dripping.

"Snow," she said to him, "it's everywhere, we're trapped in here until it melts a bit."

Jar-hidda threw the snow back outside with an angry roar and turned away, buckling again and making a pained noise. He must have been holding this in for a long time. Hannah shut the door and followed after him, directing him again to the bathroom.

"Look, whatever you need to do, do it in there, I'll clean it up," she rested a hand on his back to usher him in, and then reached in, shutting the door behind him.

She walked away, not wanting to hear what kind of mess he was going to make, and wondering why he would just deny natural functions like that. She went back to her chair and located where Smaug had gone after falling off her shoulder. She checked him over to make sure he was okay, and took the opportunity to tend to both her and his fire.

She heard the door open up after she had gone to the kitchen to prepare meat for him. Looking past the doorway, she saw him move out, seemingly back to normal. She was not looking forward to seeing what all had happened in there. He looked at her, she looked at him. There was silence. They were both going to pretend that it never happened.

After clearing her throat invited him into the kitchen and he grunted, looking up at her then turning to look at the door leading to outside. Well she thought he was looking at the door, he walked over however and inspected the various guns and bows that she had by it instead.

"Those are mine," she confirmed as he touched them gently and rattled. She was beginning to pick up that the different sounding rattles and growls reflected different emotions, sort of like how mothers say they can understand the difference between a baby's cries. This one was curiosity, a quick chittering noise. He looked back at her touching the bow.

He made the gesture for 'what is' that had become so prominent in their word game yesterday and she moved over.

"Bow," she said and, to her surprise, he offered no word in his language.

"Bow," he simply said with a quick return of attention to the weapon and a tilt of his head.

She lifted it off the wall, taking the furthest string and pulled it back to show him how it worked. He held out his hand and she let the string go back to its position, only letting go of it then. She handed the weapon to him and he gave her a deep nod, his eyes disappearing from view for a moment then took the weapon out of his grasp. She wondered what _that_ was all about.

His attempt to maneuver the bow the same way she had proved difficult for him, with the crutch, and he set it aside against the door, putting very little weight on his leg but resting the clawed toes on the ground. He would probably be able to walk without the crutch in another two days or something. The big wound on his chest was nearly completely gone, leaving behind a large scar.

He pulled back the string quickly, a feat of strength, and moved his arms to mimic her stance, with the knuckle of his thumb against his cheek. He looked very warrior-esque that way. He let the string snap back into place, causing her to wince as he did as well. He grunted and looked at his wrist. It smarted no doubt, but his tough skin had kept it from cutting open.

He handed the weapon back with another nod and she put it back on the peg. He pointed at the weapon, then swept his arm around the room to indicate the trophies there. She pointed at the ones that she had taken with the bow. She liked the primitive weapon better than the gun, there was more sport in it that way, gave the animals a better chance, and it _felt _better if she made the kill.

"Come on Jolly, breakfast time," she said and turned towards the kitchen. He ate quickly, consuming all the meat she had brought out and even looked around for more. It had been the rest of the deer she had taken yesterday, a lucky kill, made easier to transport with that sled Smith had left behind. Seems she would have to go get another one. That elk option started looking really good.

She begrudgingly brought up more of the frozen reserves and thawed them out for Jar-hidda, keeping one piece for herself. He was distracted momentarily when she began to put rub on the meat. He moved over and spread his mandibles, opening that odd-looking mouth wide and inhaling. He coughed, shaking his head and grunting in distaste. He didn't approve of the seasoning.

"Hey! Eat yours the way you want and I'll eat mine the way I want," she scorned, but wasn't really upset. She cooked her meat to medium rare, a process he also watched with interest as his mandibles worked another piece into his mouth. When it came out of the frying pan he pointed at the meat and tilted his head.

"Your way would make me sick," she said and he rattled. She attempted a pantomime of sick, but wasn't sure if it came off the way she had intended, or if he would confuse it for 'pain.' She cut a slice off and moved it over with her knife. He picked it up, completely unbothered by the heat and tried it. The mandibles worked the meat into his mouth. He didn't spit it out immediately, pondered over it for a moment, then looked over at the spices.

She wondered if he had a sense of taste, considering that he had no tongue, but he was an alien. Maybe the pink fleshy folds of its inner mouth functioned like the tongue and had receptors for taste? It seemed he 'smelled' with his mouth as well. She figured whatever sense of taste he had couldn't last long. With the lack of chewing molars, his meat was more or less eaten whole, like most reptiles.

He pointed over at the spices and she picked up a small plastic container, "spice," she said holding it up, "this one is," she turned the bottle over and read, "lemon pepper," she moved her finger along the words for him to read and he took the bottle from her. He opened his mandibles, closed them and looked the bottle over. She flipped the cap open and he inspected it, then inhaled again. He coughed and shook his head, his heavy dreads smacking his skin and handed it back.

Hannah recapped the lid smiling to herself. If she ever needed to get him out of a room, she could just throw spice around. She put the spice back and went to her meal. Jar-hidda moved around the kitchen, picking up various things and they played the word game again. It didn't surprise her that he didn't have words for most of the things he was picking up. It seemed his race wasn't very big on cooking.

She did wonder why he was teaching her his language. What real point was there for him to understand and for her to know if he was going to leave? Maybe he was an ambassador for his race, and knowing the language was going to be very important to him? It still seemed unlikely.

"Why are you here Jolly?" she mused to herself out loud. He thought she was talking to him, looking over at her as he was inspecting the frying pan, touching it despite it not being yet cool from the stove. Hell, maybe even fire wouldn't bother him at all. She shook her head and he grunted. He moved over to her and leaned close. She leaned back, giving him a suspicious look. He then pointed at Smaug who hissed.

"Lizar-no!" Smaug apparently had had enough, latching onto Jar-hidda's pointing finger. Hannah feared for the small creature. But the alien didn't seem concerned, lifting the lizard up off Hannah's shoulder, looking it over as it dangled and writhed, drawing blood. He probably didn't even feel the small needle teeth.

Hannah stepped up after a second of shock that Smaug wasn't dead and inserted her nail to the hinge of his jaw and prying his mouth loose of Jar-hidda's finger. The alien went to curiously inspecting the wound as Hannah set the lizard on the counter and moved to get a bandage. Jar-hidda rubbed his blood between his fingers, looking over at the lizard who hissed and spread his throat. The alien growled and spread his mandibles, hissing back.

Hannah stood still, holding a bandage, blinking. It was… funny to watch.

She snickered, drawing Jar-hidda's attention. Smaug's throat collapsed slightly as he closed his mouth and smacked his lips. The alien watched with curiosity as she put the band-aid around the small wound on his finger. He looked it over once she was finished and she moved to throw the wrapper away, making sure to back away from him rather than turn.

"Lizard," she finished and the alien looked at her, then at Smaug, who again threatened the much larger reptilian.


	11. Early Thaw

Jar-hidda had gone back to the door, opened it up and was staring at the sheet of white. He had kneeled down on the knee of his broken leg, something she was sure would hurt, but he wasn't bothered. He was scanning, his mask back on and his mesh clothes keeping him warm. She wasn't sure why he was fixated by the snow. Sure, she could believe his homeworld didn't even have snow. But he had been out in it before, for nearly a whole day. Maybe it was simply because she was so used to it that she didn't see the wonder or beauty in it anymore.

His scrutiny didn't seem like awe though. He stared at the wall of frost for a few minutes before lifting up and shutting the door, a little hard, with an annoyed growl.

"_Cho't,_" he growled, and she wondered what it meant. It was said with distaste, maybe it was an expletive, maybe it meant 'cold.' Maybe their word for 'cold' _was_ an expletive.

"How's the leg Jolly?" Hannah asked as he moved towards the fire. He looked at her and she tapped her leg. He responded by moving the crutch and putting weight on it, growling slightly. So it hurt enough that he didn't want to abandon the crutch, but was healed enough that he could if he needed to. Good to know.

Hannah was dusting, something that needed to be done often in a wood cabin. Something she had been neglecting. She left the spiders and their webs where they were. They were more good to the cabin than harm.

"Hannah," Jar-hidda gruffed and she looked over at him. He moved his hands apart, loosely fisted as if around something, then made the sign for give. He wanted his little spear thing. She set the feather duster down, done with the chore anyway, and went to go get it. She figured that she would give him his things as he asked for them. He didn't seem eager to get them all back at once, just when they were needed. This was the first time he actually asked for a weapon though, and not one that could have a dual purpose like his knife.

She brought the spear back up, though 'spear' wasn't really a word, it was only about a foot long with two bladed ends. She handed it back to him and he nodded, putting the weapon on his back. His backpack held most of his things it seemed, seemingly magnetically. She plopped down in the chair by the fire, looking into the flames. He looked back outside and pointed. She wasn't sure what he was asking. She figured if he wanted to go outside he would have asked for all his things.

"What Jolly?" she asked, getting out of her chair and moved to the window. She parted the curtains but only saw snow one foot away from the glass. She wondered if he had noticed Weyland's people, though she couldn't fathom how, but he didn't seem ready for an attack. She didn't get it. Then she looked back. He had taken her chair!

Her mouth opened wide. He had tricked her for her chair? That clever….

"Hey!" he looked at her, "mine!" she couldn't tell what his expression was through the mask, and couldn't decipher the rattle he gave her. She threw her hands into the air but he didn't respond, just settled more into her chair. She put her hands on her hips and growled in her throat. Out of a seat, she decided to face the mess in the bathroom since he was being the way he was.

An hour later and his mess was clean. It hadn't been so bad, but she hoped that the snow would melt enough that he could go outside soon. Hopefully he wouldn't put himself through that again on her account, not that he owed her anything really. She was paying _him_ back for saving her life, even if it was unwittingly.

When she came out Jar-hidda wasn't in the chair. She grinned and quickly swung into it, plopping down heavily. It was still very warm from his body heat. She glanced around for him then went upstairs to look. He was by the cages, peering at them. He had one of the lids open, and she felt a chill go down her spine despite the heat. She rushed in yelling, and he looked over at her. She grabbed the lid and slammed it down on the cage and he rattled in surprise, moving back up and limping.

"No, Jolly," she said shaking her head and pointed, "rattlesnake," she said and put a hand to her throat, "poison."

The alien rattled and looked at the cage, "rattlesnake, poison," he repeated. She nodded, not sure if he actually understood as she secured the clamps on the lid.

"This is Kali," she said quietly, "I found her half frozen about a year ago. Don't know why I saved her, felt bad for her I guess," kinda like him, knowing he was as dangerous as he was.

She moved up from her position on the floor, passing a hand over her brow, not to remove the sweat. She looked at Jar-hidda, who was stock still, looking at her through his mask, dead silent.

"Don't touch," she said, holding her hand over the cages and shaking her head, "don't touch."

He moved his head and rattled, turning and leaving the room. She watched him go for a minute, wondering what would have happened if she hadn't come up. She wasn't even sure if Rattlesnake venom would be venomous to him, or if it would be even deadlier. She didn't want to find out. She then pondered why it was okay for _him_ to turn his back on her, and not the other way around?

She walked out after him, following him down the stairs. She paused at the landing and took a deep breath, composing herself. Jar-hidda turned to looked at her, holding his crutch rather than leaning on it. He tilted his head and rattled. She descended the last two steps.

"I'm okay Jolly," she assured calmly, "you just gave me a scare is all," she knew he didn't understand what she was saying, but she knew the best way to learn a language was immersion. That meant that just talking was supposed to teach him, somehow. She realized that he wouldn't be with her long enough to truly pick it up. Still, it was someone, sentient, to talk to.

She moved to the door and opened it up, throwing on a coat. Jar-hidda grunted and looked at her, "I'll be right back, I have to make sure nothing's wrong with the generator and fill it up," she stepped outside and sidled along the wall of the house. The snow outside had melted some, enough that a tunnel wouldn't be entirely necessary. It was still deeper than she was tall, but if she had to guess, she would be able to walk on top of the snow in a couple days.

She cleared off and checked the generator, topping it off just so that she wouldn't have to do it tomorrow. She put the gas can back by the house and huffed. She moved around the house and to the ladder, climbing up. She got onto the roof and looked out through the trees. There was a faint paranoia after Jar-hidda's trick that Weyland was out there, waiting. She saw nothing though. A forest thick with different trees, some bare-limbed waiting for spring, some evergreens cloaked in snow. Her mother had bought this land, had the cabin built here as a place they could go to whenever she was not away on contract. They had 'discovered' the cave on the mountain together, named it after themselves. This place had been theirs, now it was only hers.

She looked up at the blue sky, the sun had recently made it over the peak of the mountain and would shine on this side for a short while before setting. Even in the brisk cold, the sun felt warm against her cheeks, coloring her breath gold. She inhaled the cold, closed her eyes. After her mother's death, all she had wanted was to be alone. It was too much to ask for. Even after Jar-hidda was healed, his ship would certainly need to be repaired, taking more time. Possibly it would never be fixed. What then?

Hannah opened her eyes. She could not imagine the future, living as she did, thinking ahead usually didn't extend past the next winter. She imagined that Jar-hidda would not tolerate wintering here ever again; he would probably leave of his own accord, to warmer climates, driven by instincts she could not comprehend.

She stared out over her home for a while, before she hopped over the edge of the house. There was enough snow she was uninjured by the fall, and she waded back to her house. She shook off the snow and entered through the door. She began to shed her coat, looking over at Jar-hidda who was exploring again, closer than his previous once around.

He was bent over the table by the window, looking at her entrance with a sharp turn of his head and a grunt, before going back to looking through the drawer he had discovered. She had put her gun back within, but there was also her wallet, the keys to her truck, several packs of batteries, and a few envelopes.

"Nosey alien," Hannah scoffed as she hung up the coat. Jar-hidda rattled and pulled out a picture frame. He rattled, looking at Hannah, pointing at it then at where it probably should be, on the table with the other pictures.

"That's uh, Bishop," she said and walked over, pointing at the man in the picture, "and that's my mother," she pointed at the woman. They were all together with a number of other people, including a dark-skinned man, another Caucasians with a scarred face. They were standing, and a few kneeling, in front of a tropical backdrop surrounded by a village and many young children with skin much darker than the man standing next to Bishop.

"My mother worked for Weyland Industries, well, worked more for Bishop himself really. She was a mercenary but she had taken several contracts from him. They were pretty close, not as close as him and Max, but Bishop was a decent guy, not like his prick of a son who's in charge now. They all died together in the same expedition about… twenty-five years ago. They never told me how."

Hannah ran a thumb over the glass pane over the picture, "I was fourteen," she said distantly, "when Weyland told me that my mother had died. I remember sitting in that guy's office, being told repeatedly that my mother wasn't coming home. I would get the money from the contract, and her life insurance when I was eighteen, but they wouldn't give me, what I wanted most. I wanted to know _why_ or _how_ they had died, but they kept telling me it had just been an accident.

"They were lying to me, hiding things, telling half-truths. Eventually Weyland was tired of my demands and had me escorted out," Hannah sighed, "in the hallway, I crossed paths with one of the people who had been hired for the expedition, some environmentalist, she was the only one who had survived. I remember…," she narrowed her eyes, "I started crying, I grabbed her arm and begged her to tell me what happened. Even as they were dragging me away I kept crying, wanting to know. They didn't give her the chance to answer either, pushed her away down the hall. She kept looking over her shoulder though. I saw in her face that she was sorry. Never heard of her after that, figured Weyland made her disappear."

She sighed. Jar-hidda was silent beside her. She moved her hand to put the picture back into the drawer, hesitated, then flipped out the support and put it on the table, "I guess this can go here now," she let go of the picture, Jar-hidda looking at it, rattling and tilting his head. He looked down sharply as she roughly shut the drawer with a loud slam.

"Stop being nosey," she half-teased and walked away to take her wet boots off by the door. She stripped off the wet socks, making an uncomfortable noise and looking at her already wrinkling toes. She looked over at the bathroom, hesitant, but ultimately decided on taking a hot shower. She hardly ever did so, the plumbing to the cabin was complicated, being fed by the natural water from the mountain, and heating it up took quite a bit of energy from the generator. But she felt like she had earned herself a bit of indulgence.

She turned on the water heater downstairs and moved back up, gathering a change of clothes and a towel and locating Jar-hidda in the kitchen, inspecting a spoon.

"Hey, Jolly," she called and he looked up. She pointed to herself then where the bathroom was, "I'm going in there," she said and walked over, indicating him to follow, "if you," she pointed, "need me," she pointed at herself, "knock," she rapped on the door three times and watched him. He tilted his head and she decided she was clear enough. She half-wanted to leave the door open to keep tabs on him, sure that he wouldn't have the reservations humans did about the body in its natural state. She was probably as ugly to him as he was to her. If anything he may be offended because she was showing off her hideous form unashamed.

But privacy was so ingrained into her mind as 'proper,' that the idea of leaving the door open while she showered made _her_ uncomfortable, nevermind him. He eventually turned away from her and she frowned at his hipocrasy, but then disappeared behind the door. She came out a minute later wrapped in a towel and scooping up Smaug, who was threatening the alien again, and took him into the room with her. She didn't need two incidents in one day.


	12. Wintry Eyes

Hannah looked at the deep pine-green stain on the wood. Even though she had cleaned up Jar-hidda's blood after her first-aid job, it had set into the grain of the floor, just like normal blood would have. It had stopped glowing after almost an hour, and over time had turned a near-black color that she was never going to be able to get out. She sighed and moved back upstairs to her workroom, where the guns of the Weyland grunts were all laid out on the table.

Jar-hidda was in the room across, enjoying the heat. His mask was on and he was messing with the device on his wrist. She had given him back his jewelry, figuring there was no harm in him having his necklaces. He was looking more and more like the first time she had laid eyes on him nearly a week and a half ago. Life in the past couple of days had been relatively routine. She was keeping herself busy with her normal chores, really nothing she hadn't done before in the twenty-one winters previously. She was well adept at staying busy while snowed in. Jar-hidda amused himself by watching, and occasionally learning or offering a verb.

The alien was walking without his crutch, having handed it to her the day before and navigated the house without it, albeit limping. She recycled the crutch in the fire and thought nothing more of it.

She sat down in front of the table and ejected the clip of the first gun. They were all Glock 17C Gen4s, a little old-fashioned, but there was never anything quite like the classics. There was no need to keep more than one gun, but she was unloading all the bullets out of the clip, flicking them out with her thumb and setting them on the table. Only one of them had a full clip, the one that had belonged to Dyson, and only one had an empty clip. She was planning on throwing away Dyson's gun and keeping the empty one.

She had set all the bullets on their flat end in lines, seeing which men had gotten how many shots off in a small urge of pointless curiosity. Once all five guns were empty, she checked over the one and made sure it was clean and undamaged. She loaded its clip up and slid it in, flicking on the safety. It would go in the drawer with her Cheetah, the others she'd throw away the next time she went into town.

That would have to be soon. She had gone through many of the resources in the past couple days, and she would need to get more wood. And more meat. Her freezer was officially empty. She was sure Jar-hidda was going to get fat eating that much and sitting around. He was probably bored out of his mind. They were running out of things to play the word game with. He had picked up and asked about everything that he could pick up or point at, only some of which he had a word to offer back. She really didn't have very much.

She wasn't looking forward to a seven-foot tall, four-hundred pound alien with cabin fever when that struck.

Hannah threw the extra guns and empty clips into a paper bag and walked back downstairs with them. She found Jar-hidda had moved from the room and was inspecting the bookcase, a single black claw running along the spines, "yeah," she said absently and the alien looked at her. She set the bag down by the door, "I've got a lot of books," she looked over at the bookcase full of hodge-podge informational texts, everything from the theories of the extinction of the dinosaurs to migratory patterns of water fowl.

"My mother always used to say, 'it's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.' Of course when she said it she always meant things like a condom or a knife or gun, or pepperspray. I ended up applying it to knowledge, something that saved your life in fact," she smirked slightly but it didn't last, "unfortunately, the more I learned, the more I ended up hating my own species. War, greed, crimes against humanity. Everyone willing to stand on someone else's chest to get a little higher in the social ladder," she frowned, looking over at the pictures of her mother, "and ultimately you can't trust the people who have the power."

She frowned, shrugged, then moved to put the one loaded Glock in the drawer with her Cheetah. She paused, looking out her window, actually able to _see _outside beyond the snow. The sun was beating against the western side of the house already, scraggly thing shadows from the trees dancing across the glass. The sky was blue with very few clouds. It was a good day today.

She heard her name and looked over her shoulder, realizing she had turned her back to him and thought he was going to correct her for it, but he was gone. She went to the stairs, figuring that he had gone back to his room, placing a hand on the railing and looking up the stairs.

"Yes Jolly?" she called but received no answer. She waited a few seconds before turning around. She jumped nearly out of her skin. Jar-hidda was right behind her, looking at her with a slow tilt of his head and a rattle that she had discerned was his form of 'laughter.' She hadn't even heard him walk right up behind her. And where the hell had he been hiding in the first place behind the chair? Maybe he had been in the kitchen?

"Laugh it up chuckles," she growled, pushing his chest to get past him. But pushing him was like pushing a tree, and he refused to move. She set her jaw and pushed again, then again with both hands, then put her shoulder against him and used the stairs as leverage to push harder. He just rattled.

She relented, stepping down onto the stairs. He huffed. She lifted her hands in the air and shook her head, smacking her thighs, "have it your way," she said and carefully began walking up the stairs backwards. She paused a moment, looking over the top of his head at her living room. She inhaled, making what was possibly a foolish split-second decision. She jumped off the stairs, towards the giant, scrambled over his shoulders like a squirrel over branches and hopped behind him.

She didn't stick the landing though, falling on her side, but she scrambled up to a sitting position and whipped around to face him as he roared. She could not see his face, but he was in a definite fighting stance; knees bent, hands spread at his side, fingers bent brandishing his claws. She felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach as she stared at him. She was up on her feet in a second as he made a charge for her like a mad elephant. She tried to figure out what she had done to piss him off as she ducked under his arm.

She ungracefully stumbled out of the way, catching herself from falling and breaking into a sprint. Her initial instinct was to go for her Cheetah, but realized that was a foolish idea considering he had survived seventeen point-blank Glock shots to the chest, and course-corrected herself towards her rifles. She reached her hand for her .30-06 but suddenly tripped and fell, her chin smacking against the ground and she tasted blood.

"Don't touch," Jar-hidda mocked in her voice as he dragged her away from her weapons by her ankle. She found herself wishing that Smaug was a much larger lizard, capable of doing more than sitting on the chair and hissing like he was. Jar-hidda let her go and she scrambled up again, nearly tripping over herself and putting the chair between her and the alien.

He lifted the solid oak wood chair like it was nothing, ignoring the bearded dragon, setting it down to the side and grabbing for her. She stumbled back, feeling the fire at her back and reached behind her for the fire poker, grabbing wildly but couldn't find it. He stepped forward and grabbed for her flailing hand but she snatched it away, ducking reflexively in case he tried to grab her again, and made a break for the table. Several pictures fell as she slammed into it, tearing the drawer open.

She whipped around, gripping the edge of the table tightly, knuckles white, as it bit into her lower back, her Cheetah pointed right at his throat, just below the three mandibles that were clicking together behind his mask as he tilted his head back and forth, regarding her, walking slowly forward.

"What the _hell_ is your problem!?" she screamed. He looked at the gun, then at her. In a swift motion he caught her hand and the gun in one massive claw and moved the barrel away from him. His grip was like steel, but wasn't hurting her. He turned the gun and her wrist sideways until she was forced to let go of it. He set the gun gently on the table and grabbed the front of her shirt, dragging her away. He let her go and took a few steps back. He pounded a fist against his chest with a grunt then assumed the bent-kneed spread-armed stance again, roaring.

She stood dumbly. He wanted to fight her? In hand to hand combat? Was he crazy? He came at her again, slower this time but his feet still echoed through the floor into the basement. She stepped back and simply moved out of reach of his swings, "no," she said, redirecting the swing of his arm downwards away from her head, "no," she said with more force as she moved her shoulder away from his swiping claws, "no!" she yelled as her back slammed against the wall, the stock of a gun pressing awkwardly against her shoulder.

"Are you crazy!? I'm not going to fight you! You're, what, fifty times stronger than I am!?"

Jar-hidda had his hands planted against the wall to either side of her shoulders, claws raking against the wood as he growled, either irritated or disappointed, she couldn't tell.

"No contest! You win! Back off!"

The alien grunted, but he moved away, stepping back and she moved to the side, directly away from him murmuring curses under her breath. He looked at her as she glowered at him. Then, nonchalantly like nothing happened, he moved back over to the books, limping a little worse, and began to run a claw along the spines again. She couldn't believe it. One second he was this ball of pent-up aggression, the next he's playing passive scholar?

She felt an empty sick feeling in her stomach as she realized that she may have been wrong this entire time. Surely he was no ambassador but what if he _was _more than just a visitor? What if he was a scout for an army, and all the sci-fi movies had it right? What if all she was really doing was helping Earth get invaded? She felt very ill, and chilly. She shook her head, ignoring her own thoughts. She was being irrational. She wasn't sure if it was his cabin fever or hers, but she needed a break.

She walked briskly past him, ignoring his jerky glance, and up the stairs to the sweltering room. She dressed in triple layers, put on a scarf and her warmest boots. She got her gloves and moved to her office, grabbing the collapsible sled and putting it on her back. She felt the inside of her lip with her tongue. It had been cut open by her teeth and felt the wound already swelling and irritated and growled in her throat.

She would probably be gone for the rest of the day. Just her, the snow, the hibernating wilderness and the hunt. Just to calm down and clear her head. She was back down quickly, almost rushing past him, not bothering to make sure that her back was away from him. She unhooked her bow from the wall and opened the door. She paused and looked back at him, who was watching her with a curious rattle with an open book in his hands.

"Stay here, Jar-hidda," she said, pointing at him and then the ground, "I'll—," her voice caught in her throat before she sighed heavily, "I'll be back soon," she finished, sounding unsure about it herself. She turned and stepped outside, feeling the warm sun on her face as she pulled up the scarf. The icicles were shrinking, the snow was slipping off of the trees. It felt frigid. She glanced behind her at Jar-hidda, brown eyes cold as he watched her unmoving. She turned and shut the door between him and her.


	13. Icebound

Jar-hidda looked down at the book in his hands. The pages inside were so frail and thin, that it was a folly for mankind to put something as important as knowledge and history within. Something so important should never be easy to erase with something as simple as fire, or even time. Whatever happened to record in stone? Stone was strong, it lasted, it did not rot away, wither or fade, only nature could reclaim it, by then, perhaps, it was meant to be lost.

The pages were blank to him either way, the same blank shade no matter to which page he flipped. The cover and spine of the book also were empty, the ink invisible to him simply for being the same level and temperature as the rest of it. He shut the book and put it back in its dark space between the other nameless books. He huffed and rattled, hearing a hiss and looking over at the dark shape of the reptile against the brightness of the fire.

It was a brave creature. Despite being so small, despite knowing that he was a far more dangerous predator that it was, it had attacked him in defense of its mistress. How many of the human's so-called deathly-loyal canines had whimpered and shirked away from him even as he cut down their masters? He had a small respect for the lizard, and so it got to live. Plus, the human Hannah was very attached to the creature.

Jar-hidda looked to the door where the human had disappeared with her bow. He was deliberately waiting in the living room, counting the time as it went by. Time went by quickly on this planet; he had been here for ten of its 'days,' the periods of cold and slightly less cold that qualified that time passed. Of all the places he could have landed, it had to be the place that could most qualify as Cho't, the place for disgraced warriors and bad bloods. Still, he was lucky, if it weren't for that human, Hannah, his body and technology would have fallen into the greedy hands of the other humans, and he would have been dishonored. Disgrace would not have been a just punishment. He wasn't sure where he stood now, being rescued from humans by a human. It could be worse, he assured himself, could be very much worse.

Would someone come after him for it? Doubtful.

He brought up his arm flipping open the shield over his gauntlet and activated his cloak with a press of a button. The human was trusting, maybe foolishly so. Probably because she did not understand his possessions. She continued to withhold his weapons, not realizing she had already given him the most dangerous one. But she kept giving him whatever he asked for. Perplexing. He had hunted Earth frequently over the past four-hundred of its years, watching the humans evolve, realizing far sooner than others of his kind that it would not be long until the humans joined them in space. He had witnessed, hunted and occasionally spared very remarkable individuals. Not many had piqued his interest like this human. She was amusing in her own way. Maybe one day he would inform her that she didn't need to walk backwards everywhere around him. But for now, it was amusing to watch.

He finished his calculations and moved to the door. He opened it and looked into the dark abyss of this hell on earth. He stepped out into the brisk air, his own breath visible to him. He moved forward into the dark snow and leapt up into a tree, only visible because it caught the light of the sun on its branches. Snow shook from the branch as he hit it. He switched the visions of his mask, seeking one that gave him a better advantage over the environment. There was one, it was weak, but it was something. He moved through the trees, moving from branch to branch. He faltered and slipped, clawing at the bark to stay above the ground. He pulled himself up, grunting and touching his injured leg, feeling the rough cloth of the bandage. He could remove it now, the bone had by now mended, but he could not do so out here, it would lead the human to be suspicious.

He continued on his path, feeling the shadows as starkly as bolts of lightning as he passed beneath them even with his mesh armor warming his skin. Every glance of sunlight was a blessing. He moved as easily through the branches as easily as he would have on the ground, injured leg notwithstanding. Further and further he went within the dim vision that allowed him to navigate through this forest. He had a new respect for the human who lived in this hell comfortably.

Jar-hidda stopped suddenly when he saw movement, quickly switching his vision and easily spotting the heat signature. He moved slowly around the tree to get a better angle. There she was, the human, walking through the snow very far away from her home. He had tested how easily he could hide form her, he felt safe following from this distance. She was a hunter, with many trophies to her name. He had witnessed and hunted a few like her. But she refused to fight him. It was disappointing, very disappointing, to be unable to know the strength of his 'mighty captor.' He wanted to see how worthy she really was.

He did not mind the venison that she hunted for him. Meat was meat. He had preferences, sure, but nothing she could find on this planet. But he wanted a test of her skill, not a show of how easily she could bring down a harmless plant-eater. Where were the bears whose skull she had shown him? That would be a challenge.

Jar-hidda followed at a distance, keeping to the trees, and opting to fall behind when movement became difficult for him rather than give away his position making too much noise to keep up. She was easy to track, a bright little flame in the vastness of the cold. He would be able to spot her even if she was miles away.

Her prey was a different story. They had the same strange vision that the humans did. They didn't see heat, they saw… something else. They had their own advantages over him and his kind, it was what made them good sport.

Hannah stopped, so he did as well, freezing in place and perching on the branch he was on. A bit of snow fell from the bare limb. She looked back, right at him, but for only a second. She didn't see him, not this far away while he was cloaked.

She was angry at him. He understood why. This language barrier between them was making her life difficult. His presence alone was complicating her life. She was one accustomed to living alone, like he was. One did not live alone for many years, and then readily adjust to having another person in their life. He was grateful, at least, that she was willing. His leg was almost healed, he would soon leave. Both of their lives would return to normal.

Jar-hidda switched his vision, watching as Hannah moved to the side and scaled up a tree, into the branches. His mask made it easy to observe her, even from this distance. Looking around, though, there was nothing here, no prey, but he knew that meant nothing. He watched her check her weapon and he grunted in amusement despite himself. He was sure that the flimsy weapon could hardly be able to take down anything larger than a rodent.

He settled on the branch, sitting with his back against the tree trunk to take his weight off of his leg. Now they waited. There was nothing out there to see for him, no matter what vision he switched to. There was just the small bloom of heat that was the huntress, sitting as still and quietly as he was. Her prey would not know she was there.

He watched her, unmoving, this human, an odd balance of intelligence and foolishness, bravery and compassion. He had never been this close to one, not for this long, not without the intent of having their skull on his wall. What would he do with her when it was all over. She was hunted by her own kind, she knew too many things, and no doubt she would learn more in the next few days that she ever should. The laws dictated that he erase all evidence, this would mean her as well.

Unless she could prove herself.

Hannah. Strange name, he wondered what it meant. When he had awoken, he was sure the human had captured him. But it was clear he was able to leave if he so chose. He had called her 'mighty captor,' for a while as a joke more to himself since she could not understand, using it the same way she used the word 'jolly.' But he was no prisoner, and he could not figure out what her motives were. She definitely didn't want to kill him. She had had many chances to do so if that was her goal.

She moved and he leaned forward intently, some of his dreads sliding over his shoulder, tapping against his armor. She was stock still, her weapon in hand. She had seen something, he looked around for what. She was turned away from him, facing a specific direction down the mountain. He was at the wrong angle to see down the curve of the mountain. He had to risk moving closer.

Very slowly he crept forward, using his arms to creep along the branches, jumping only when there was no other option. He could see now, small little blazes of heat moving over the crest. These were larger than the deer she had been feeding him, the horns on a few were much larger. He held in a rattle of excitement, eager to see what she did with these animals. He braced himself between two branches and leaned forward, zooming his vision to look at her weapon and her. She was breathing evenly despite her heart racing. She removed one of the flimsy pointed sticks and put it on the bow. Could something so frail really take anything down?

He kept as silent as the nature around him. He spotted her target just after she did: the largest animal in the herd, even though there was one with larger horns. She was hunting for food, trophies didn't matter. It was against his code, the code that had been seared into his mind through years of training. When hunting for food, the weakest and oldest of a group was taken to improve the bloodlines, she was going for a good, strong and healthy male. He didn't interrupt her hunt though, merely noted and observed.

The animals didn't even know she was there, their fate sealed. He lost interest. He watched dispassionately as she drew back the projectile and shot it at the beast. It flinched and took off running, scattering its herd. It was dead. Its blood was a bright streak against the dark snow. It would run for a while, but it was dead. He was disappointed, debating how to find a real challenge for the human.

She was descending the tree now. Jar-hidda moved back and began his return. She was a skilled hunter, that was for sure, it had simply ended too quickly and not as violently as he may have liked. But this was not like one of his hunts. This was for sustenance, not glory, even if those things may be one in the same for him.

Then a sound split the ice-cold air. It was his name, Hannah's nickname for her. He looked up, the human female looking directly at him, "go home Jolly!" she called again. He was silent, then rattled in amusement. He was still cloaked. She had found him, clever, observant creature. Her voice was tense, she was upset again, or still, he wasn't sure. He deactivated the cloak and saw her exhale heavily. She pointed forcefully, "home!" she roared again.

He tilted his head at her, amused that she thought she had any control over him, a much larger and stronger person. She had displayed this brave folly often, and had he been any other Yautja, the female would likely be dead, or wishing she was. He, however, rattled again and turned, moving through the trees back to the cabin she called home. This excursion was not a total waste. He had found her to be skilled, observant, patient, all qualities of an excellent hunter. There may be hope for her yet.


	14. Cold Comfort

Hannah came back up out of cold storage, circles under her eyes, a little exasperated. There were happy crows in the forest , and hopefully the elk would feed Jar-hidda for a few more days. It was not the hunting trip that had worn her out. She was carrying with her the cold metal bracer and bandolier that belonged to the alien. Once she got to the living room, she set the bandolier over the back of the chair and handed him the bracer. He took it and attached it to his wrist, clenching his fist and ejecting out the long tribalistic wrist blades, which rang like crystal.

Hanna hadn't even flinched, nothing seemed to surprise her anymore about the alien. He rattled something and retracted the weapons, turning to the bandolier. These were the last of his things from downstairs. She figured if he was healthy enough to follow her outside and down the mountain, he would leave whenever he wanted. Better to give him his things rather than have him route for them downstairs; the shelving probably wouldn't survive.

Jar-hidda adjusted the bandolier across his chest, gently running his claws along the various metal triangles and circles that were strapped to it. Hannah could guess what they were. She had not realized, when she was hiding these things, just how heavily armed he was. But having carried them up, carefully by twos, she was now absolutely certain he was not here on friendly business, to establish relations between worlds. It made her really wonder what kind of creature she was harboring.

Sighing, she held up her hands and slapped her thighs before going back into the kitchen. It almost looked like a murder scene. The elk was nearly twice as large as any of the deer she had gotten, and the blood was running off the island.

"Come eat Jolly," she called from the kitchen as she picked up a knife. She began to cut meat from the bones and put it to the side. Jar-hidda could take his pick of the pile. She wasn't hungry. Jar-hidda didn't enter. Hannah paused after a few minutes of absence and looked at the entryway. Then the alien came in, carrying in his hand a very unhappy bearded dragon. The alien set Smaug on Hannah's shoulder, grunted, and then moved to the meat.

Hannah gently soothed the lizard, leaving bloody streaks down his scales, but didn't take her eyes off the alien wondering 'why?'

He seemed suddenly so out of place decked out as he was. He had three canon-like weapons mounted on his shoulders, folded on his back in a way that they were pointing at the ceiling. He had a weapon on his back that looked like a police baton, but was a very long blade rather than wood. These were in addition to his wristblades, the double-bladed knife thing, the dagger, the bandolier and another sort of kit that he had on the back left of his tasset. He definitely seemed ready for war.

She got back to cutting, passing by Jar-hidda to set down another piece of meat. She looked up sharply as his hand touched her arm and he rattled, "Hannah," he said.

"What Jolly?" she asked holding in a heavy sigh.

"Spice," he said, holding out a piece of meat to her. She looked at him, burying the emotion of anger at suddenly feeling like a servant. She blamed her foul mood on unrestful sleep and stress. She took the piece and moved around him to the other side of the counter. She rinsed off her hands, grabbed her usual spices and rubbed them into the piece.

"Do you want it cooked?" she asked and he tilted his head in that fashion so peculiar to him. She demonstrated by holding the meat over the pan, "cooked?" it would taste better that way, with the spices actually soaking into the meat, but he could have it any way he wanted really. He seemed to contemplate for a moment before grunting, which like his clicking could mean different things according to how it sounded. This one meant 'yes.'

Hannah lit the burner and cooked the steak. It didn't take long because she left it rare for him, quite sure that any other degree of cooking would ruin it for him. He ate the steak with his hands as usual and she went back to cutting.

Jar-hidda pointed at the carcass and she obliged with a half-hearted, "elk," answer. He repeated the word, then he indicated the missing head and made the 'where is' sign.

"Outside," she said, indicating the back of the cabin with a nonchalant point of her knife. He looked at the wall as if he could see where she had left the head and cape of the animal. Hanna grunted and flipped the carcass over, getting her clothes bloody. She cut the second backstrap off of the spine and looked up as the alien said her name. He was already finished with his meal and was indicating her to follow him.

She blinked as he walked around her towards the door. Looking at her unfinished work she sighed, set down the knife and followed, whipping on her parka. Jar-hidda walked around the cabin to the back and scanned the area. Hannah walked up to the head of the elk, figuring it was the reason he wanted to go outside. Following her, he knelt down to the large antlered head and removed the kit from his belt. A gentle claw-stroke opened it up and he set it on the ground, looking up at Hannah and grunting, making sure she was paying attention.

She cocked an eyebrow but bent down to the ground, soaking her knee, but watched obediently. He tilted his head at her, then turned his attention to the skull. He pulled a thing like a pen from the kit, and it produced a laser that he used to cut the underside of the jaw. With a show of strength, he simply peeled the skin away from the skull with a sickening tearing noise, splitting apart where he made the incision, leaving just the bone. The next thing he took from the kit was a liquid. He used this to simply clean away the remainder of the blood from the skull. He used something that looked like a needle and inserted it into the base of the skull, injecting just a small amount of glowing fluid into it then removing it. Then a small canister produced a misty smoke, encircling the bone. It was a short but complicated process, using nearly all of the instruments within.

When it was finished, Jar-hidda set down the skull with a single click and looked at Hannah. The woman couldn't help herself. The skull was not only perfectly cleaned and bleached, which would have taken her hours of boiling and stinking up her house, but it was also polished smooth with a soft sheen. She reached out and touched the skull, and Jar-hidda closed up his kit. Reattaching it to his belt.

Hannah lifted the skull and turned it over in her hands. She looked from it to Jar-hidda as something clicked in her head. What warrior would need a kit specifically for cleaning trophies? He was a hunter, like her. Was this what he was trying to convey to her? Jar-hidda tilted his head and gave a questioning rattle. She looked at the skull then back up at him, "thank you."

The alien tilted his head sharply and rattled again in the same manner. He then grunted and stood. She followed. He looked at the cape and pointed at it. She lifted and handed it to him, and he led the way back inside.

She left him in the living room as he began treating the cape and went back to cutting up the elk. Her mind was put to ease slightly, knowing now that he was a hunter. To him, Earth was probably just an exotic safari, just like if she would go to Africa and hunt the big five. She began to curiously wonder what sort of creature attracted him to this place. He wasn't equipped for something like antelope. Probably bigger, more vicious animals were what drew him, like bears, and from the looks of things, he preferred to hunt them with his hands. Montana had plenty of bears, but then she remembered: he crashed here.

Where and what was he hunting before coming here? Africa seemed likely, it would also make sense that he got shot up, coming across some of the military or rebels there. He was probably hunting hippo or lion before he got interrupted, attacked and was forced to flee. Maybe that's how his ship got damaged. And then Weyland surveillance caught sight of his ship and now here they were. What were the odds?

She was startled out of her thoughts by something heavy being dropped over her head around her shoulders. She looked up at Jar-hidda with wide eyes, pushing up what was covering her face. He laughed a human laugh. He must have heard it somewhere else, because she was sure she hadn't made that kind of noise around him. He said a word she heard him say often, '_cut'nry nicul_' something she guessed probably meant something like 'servant,' since he always used it when calling her to do something for him when he was bed-ridden.

She looked down and looked at what she was now wearing. She was jealous. In a matter of mere minutes he had tanned the cape, fashioned it into, well, a cape, and stiffened the hide of the head so that it was like a hood, something that would have taken her _weeks_ if she ever wanted to attempt the same thing. She felt very barbaric in the elk cloak.

"Thank you," she said again. He repeated in her voice and cocked his head, probably trying to figure it out, and she didn't really know how to explain. If she ever had children, they would not end up speaking English she was sure. So all she did was smile and put the elk hood down. He slowly tilted his head back to its natural position. He rattled and pointed at the carcass. She wasn't sure what he could do with it, she was going to just toss it in the same spot as the other bones and rib cages. If she had a dog she would have given them to it, but she had Smaug, Kali, a tarantula and a pygmy chameleon.

Keeping the bones near her home was going to just invite predators, and she'd rather avoid it. It seemed he was only inquiring about it, as he did nothing more and turned to walk out of the room. Hannah frowned slightly but didn't start anything. She grabbed the rib cage and carried it outside, away from the house a ways and deposited it where she left the others. This was followed by the leg bones. She bent down and inspected some of the prints in the snow: wolves. It was far enough away from her home that she wasn't concerned about them. Several of the bones were chewed on and dragged away from the pile. These weren't wolves. The teeth and prints told her a puma was stalking around.

Frowning deeply Hannah returned to her home, being attentive. Cougars attacked from behind.

She relaxed once the door was shut behind her. She heaved a sigh and looked over at Jar-hidda who was looking at her, still as stone, dreads settling on his shoulder. She put a hand to her chest to calm her heart down and walked in as if nothing had happened. The alien had helped himself to some more of the meat, and was sitting in her chair again. Blasted alien. She didn't bother him though, slipping into the bathroom to wash away the scent of blood, shutting the door behind her.

Well, if there was one nice thing about needed to go to the city for more gas to keep her guest warm, it was that she was enjoying plentiful warm showers that allowed her to relax and clear her mind.


	15. The Titanic

Hannah shifted, groaned, arched her back and heard several snaps. She plopped back down in the chair looking at the fire. This had become the most uncomfortable chair in the world. For nearly two weeks she had slept, or at least attempted to sleep, in this solid wood oak chair, made out of polished logs to look 'natural' to fit with the overall theme of the cabin. She had put the felt blanket in every way she could imagine to try to make it softer, but to no avail. The fur rug was starting to seem like a better option.

She shifted her shoulders back, scooted so that she was sitting on the edge of the seat and her chin was tucked right up against her chest looking into the fire. The past couple of days had become comfortable; she was giving Jar-hidda's leg a few more days before making the trek to his ship and he had started going hunting by himself. It had become normal in its own way, her body was starting to get back to its normal routine in what it was used to, and muscle memory _pined_ for the soft comfort of a bed at the end of the day.

Finally she gave up, moving out of the chair, stretched out her back with an uncomfortable noise. She laid the fleece blanket on the fur rug and laid down on top of it. It got too hot really quickly, and she dragged the rug away from the fire until it was right up against the chair. She laid down with a sigh looking up at the orange ceiling. She was almost forty, far too old to be sleeping on the floor like some spry teenager.

She grimaced and rolled over onto her side, feeling her shoulder dig easily through the fleece and fur and hitting the wood. She looked into the fire, missing her king-size bed upstairs, occupied by an alien.

She sat up suddenly. Why was she sleeping on the floor in front of the fire like the family dog and the rough-tough high-pain-tolerance alien was sleeping in her bed!?

Hannah stood up from the rug, picking up her blanket and tossing it into the chair. She moved upstairs with a purpose. Jar-hidda was asleep on the bed, his back turned to her, dressed only in his loincloth. The notion that they could possibly just share the bed crossed her mind. Human compassion crept in, reminding her that he was injured, and her guest, so he deserved the bed. It was big enough that she could sleep on the very end of one side and be fine.

But there was just something about the idea of sharing her bed with an alien…. She stepped into the room, picking up the musky smell that was simply his scent that had come to permeate the room. He hadn't stirred, which was unusual, she figured him for one of those light-sleeping, pull-out-a-weapon-upon-awakening sort. She doubted what she was doing for s moment, but then steeled herself and moved up behind him.

She roughly shoved his shoulder and shot back when he flipped over onto his hands and knees, one leg slipping off the edge of the bed as his yellow eyes searched and his mandibles spread. His gaze quickly settled on her as she stood dumbstruck at her own idiocy. He looked ready to kill, like she had jabbed a sleeping bear with a stick. He stared at her, rattling in a way that she didn't understand, but his gaze said it all, 'what do you want?'

Hannah thought about backing down, going back downstairs to lay down on the hard wood floor in front of the fire—what was she thinking!? She braced herself, setting her jaw and squaring her shoulders back and making herself look as intimidating as she could. She pointed at the bed with a jerky movement and said with conviction, "my bed."

Jar-hidda looked down at the exact spot she had pointed, then back at her, rattling again. He crawled forward, shoulders rolling as his clawed toes threatened to pierce the sheets. He slipped off the side of the bed, facing her directly, looking down at her from his full height, shoulders squared and his fingers brandishing their claws. She didn't back down, staring straight up into his eyes, curling her hands into fists. His mandibles spread as he roared with enough force to move the stray strands of hair away from her face.

She stood her ground and his mandibles closed. He tilted his head and rattled again, amused or pleased or… something she wasn't sure.

"My bed," she said again tersely. Jar-hidda grunted and shoved her shoulder, knocking her out of her spot and he mocked her.

"My bed," he growled and spread his arm in that same challenging stance he had done to her a couple days ago. He was going to fight her for it. She had wished that they were over this and that he understood fighting him was not only pointless but borderline suicide. He was intent on it, it seemed, and he was waiting for her move.

She held her breath and stepped back towards the door. She stopped just in front of the threshold and let her breath go, turning her shoulder towards him and raising her fists to protect her center. She had never actually fought anyone outside of her mother's training lessons. Sure there was the one girl in highschool who had misconceptions about why she was an orphan, but she had gone down with one solid punch to the chin.

To say she was rusty was an understatement. As she stood there, looking at Jar-hidda as the alien observed her, she was giving herself a quick refresher course, not that it would help any. Protect her center, keep at least one fist level with her chin, don't provide the opponent any openings, keep aware of weak spots. Jar-hidda's ankle was nearly fully healed, not exactly a weakspot anymore, his mandibles were probably the more fragile of his appendages, but were rather out of reach for a conventional fist fight. His spread-arm aggressive stance left his center wide open, but he could afford to. _Bullets_ couldn't get through that tough hide of his, let alone her small fist.

What had she gotten herself into?

He didn't give her the chance to back out, closing the distance between them with a single step, and his bare fist came swinging at her like a sledge hammer. It whipped through her hair as she ducked underneath it, delivering a sloppy uppercut to his diaphragm. She heard the impact hit him solidly despite the poor delivery. She mentally reprimanded herself and ducked to the side, putting distance between them.

She did not calculate for her much larger opponent's much longer reach. Her left ear rang as he backhanded her, nearly sending her toppling to the ground. She caught herself on her hand and stumbled back to her feet, turning to face him, keeping one fist up. She moved to the side, felling her knee hit the bed and dropped instantly, anticipating his attack to his cornered prey.

She swung her leg out to trip him, and felt like she had attempted to swipe the roots out from under a tree. She moved away quickly, knowing that her shin was going to bruise, and he remained standing. She cursed in her head profusely enough to make a sailor blush. There was no way she was going to win this, not unless she fought dirty, and he hadn't given her reason to. This was why she stuck to guns.

He walked towards her cautiously, no, casually. He knew she was no match for him and while her shirt was sticking to her skin like it was monsoon season, he hadn't even broken a sweat, if he _could_ sweat. The futility of the situation just made her more upset. She stepped forward into his circle, swinging punches hoping to accomplish _something _and he didn't even move to block. He just let her hit him. He was clicking at her, laughing. Then he caught one of her wrists, his fingers circling easily around the entire limb. She tried to pull out, but the strength of his two nubs alone was enough to keep her in place. He began pulling her to the side, showing off his strength? Demonstrating his superiority? He laughed at her, the tusks on his upper mandibles clicking against his lower.

She dug her heels against the wood and tried to pull out of his grip. She glowered at him, set her jaw and pulled back a fist. She collapsed at the sudden release when her fist impacted his mandibles. Her knuckles had cut open on one of the tusks, but he was stumbling back, holding his face and making a sort of howling screaming noise. She launched herself from the ground and threw her shoulder at his knees. He fell forward, and she was sure she had dislocated her shoulder. She whipped around on her feet and kneed his side, sending him tumbling to his back. She pounced on him ready to just beat his face in, lost in the adrenaline.

Her wrists were caught in both of his hands and he easily reversed their positions, his dreads tapping against her face as he roared at her, the lining of one of his mandibles bleeding from being cut on his sharp inner teeth. She clenched her fists and roared back and, in a move that was more reflex than coherent thought, she brought her knee up to his groin.

Jar-hidda made a whining noise and collapsed to the side, curling slightly in a fetal position. She sat up with a wide-eyed look at him, horrified at what she had just done. He recovered faster than any human man would have, breathing raggedly as he moved again to his knees, planting on foot on the ground. He then began laughing, that human laugh that he had gotten from someone else.

She scrambled back as he moved to his feet, letting out a heavy breath touching where the blood was leaking out from his mandibles and looking at it on his fingers. He turned his yellow eyes to her, as she stood with her back to the bed, wondering what sort of Hell he was going to put her through now as retribution.

Instead, he walked away from her, towards the fire, "want it that bad, take it," he growled.

Hannah blinked, then blinked again. Those were not words she had taught him. She watched flabbergasted as he settled onto the ground near the fire, "you…."

Jar-hidda flinched as a pillow smacked into the back of his head and he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Hannah, his yellow eye catching the light and seemed to be glowing.

"You speak English!" she accused loudly, pointing at him.

"A little," he growled again, looking away dismissively. His voice, _his_ voice, was so deep and gravelly it almost didn't actually have tone at all, it was like listening to someone talk while they were gurgling stones. He was hit with another pillow and he looked at her again, the tendons I her neck could be seen as she held in a full-out ranting and screaming-fit that would have put a toddler to shame.

"Then why didn't you say anything before!? This whole time I've been talking to you like you were a one-year old! I've-," Hannah felt a chill at the realization of all the things that had come out of her mouth thinking that Jar-hidda couldn't understand her. She had confided in him, insulted him, chastised him among countless other things that the much larger alien could easily just kill her for.

"I don't know you," he growled behind his mandibles, "I don't know this place."

Hannah relaxed, lowering a third pillow, understanding slightly. This world was as alien to him as he was to her. Trust was that much more of an issue. She sighed and rubbed her temples, "you have some explaining to do," she groaned underneath her breath.

"Explaining?" he growled, having difficulty with the word.

"I have questions, you _will _answer."

"In the morning," Jar-hidda turned from her and laid his head back down, facing the fire, snatching the two pillows to place under his head. Hannah sighed and arranged her remaining pillows and also laid down, but had a feeling it would be several hours before she would be able to sleep.


	16. Cold-blooded

"Why are you here?"

It was the first thing she thought of, the answer she wanted most. The morning had come very shortly after she had finally gone to sleep. She had half expected Jar-hidda to be gone in the morning. But he was there. He had put his metal thong armor over his loincloth first thing after he awakened, then had simply faced her and waited.

She had thought of what she would say or ask. There were so many questions, not all pertaining to Jar-hidda personally, but to the far reaches of space; she wanted to know the 'how' and 'way' of things in addition to the, perhaps more complicated 'why.'

But 'why' was what she had asked first, after the two of them had settled in the kitchen for breakfast. He was having his usual, she had gone for a bowl of cereal.

Jar-hidda didn't answer at first, though he had paused at the question, before seemingly thinking it over a strip of meat.

Never in a million years would she have thought to be sharing a metaphorical table with an alien. There were scientist, xenobiologists, entire governments and thousands of nerds who would have _killed_ for a chance like this, and she couldn't help but continue to think of how nice her life was going to be once he was _gone_.

"I was… looking for…," he began to gargle, "my friends…."

"You were looking for your friends?" she repeated to clarify.

Jar-hidda rattled in disapproval and opened his hand, "… of my… friend."

She looked at his open hand with a furrowed brow, "you were looking for something that belongs to your friend?"

"Something," he repeated in her gravelly voice.

She lifted her bowl, "thing," she said, then lifted the spoon from the bowl, then the salt shaker from the counter, each time saying 'thing.' He gave a curt nod.

"I was looking for my… friend's thing."

His grasp on English wasn't as good as she had thought. She could tell that the word 'friend' wasn't exactly the word he wanted, but it was probably the closest word he had.

"Why are you no longer looking?"

"I found it."

Hannah slowly put her spoon back in her bowl. That was why Weyland was after him, wasn't it? They had stolen some alien technology, probably imprisoned or killed the alien in question, otherwise she was certain she would be having this conversation with an entirely different brute rather than Jar-hidda. Then when Jar-hidda retrieved the thing, and was making his way to leave, they shot him out of the sky, and by luck he had crash-landed on the one mountain owned by one of the few people in the world who hated Weyland.

"I see," she said, coming back from being lost in thought. She looked into her shredded wheat cereal and continued to eat it. She couldn't afford to throw it away.

"With how long you've been here, will someone come looking for you?" this was her second greatest fear, inadvertently aiding in causing H.G. Wells' _War of the Worlds_ to be filed into the non-fiction section.

"No," he gargled, eating another strip of meat and she felt very relieved. They had time to get him off this planet and safely home. But a new sense of urgency filled her. She fell silent, planning the next few days ahead. Today, she'd go into the city and get enough supplies that she wouldn't have to leave the mountain for as long as it took Jar-hidda to repair his ship, on the assumption that it wasn't badly damaged enough that it could be fixed.

She hastily finished her cereal and put the bowl in the sink, she would wash it later. She moved outside and put her coat on. Jar-hidda came out of the kitchen, holding a swaying strip of meat, no doubt curious about her sudden rush.

"I'm going to get some things Jolly, I'll be back in an hour or so," she said simply as she forced gloves onto her hands. She was out the door and to her truck. The snow was still above her knees, but her truck would be able to make it down; she had learned quickly after actually living in this part of Montana that one never took the plow attachment of one's truck.

It wasn't a quick drive down, riding the brakes nearly the whole way to the bottom, but once she was down, she was on her way to the city, generously plowing the seldom-used road on the way. The snow and winter didn't really seem to have an effect on Troy. It was a city whose business was the wilderness. In the spring and summer it lodged hikers and campers, and in the fall and winter hunters and skiers.

She made her way over to Mike's shop and walked in.

"Good— oh Hannah! what a surprise! Twice in one month? Are you alright?"

Hannah looked over at Mike who was setting down a catalogue that had a barn with several elk in a pen pictured on the front. He had wanted to get into the domesticated wildlife business for a while, raising up trophy animals to make money on guided hunts. It was one of the things she always bit her tongue on. To her, that wasn't hunting, it was intricate livestock slaughter. Hunting was stalking an animal, in its natural environment, bred through the laws of survival of the fittest not through scientific-genetic selection; raised and tempered by merciless nature not bottle-fed and carefully monitored.

But Mike was about the only person on earth she had a good relation with, she was not going to ruin it by a conflict of ideals.

"I'm fine," she said going around and gathering up non-perishables and food for her pets. She piled her purchase on his counter, glancing at the television, half expecting something about Weyland to be on the news. He already cured cancer, perfected prosthetics, solved the energy resource crisis, created actual artificial intelligence, and pioneered the mechanics for eventual deep-space travel. What more could he do?

But no, the news was talking about how this was one of the coldest winters in Montana's history, and it was probably only going to get worse. But for now at least, it seemed to have leveled out for a while.

"You'd probably get a better selection of these at an actual store," Mike said as he rang her up.

"You can't get gas at a normal store."

"You'll be getting gas too then?"

"Four cans, my truck and your wood," she said taking out her card and swiping it.

She inputted her pin even before she saw the total. Housing Jar-hidda was going to make a dent in her carefully saved funds, this she knew even before he had awakened.

"Oh, uh, couple of your friends came by asking about you the other day."

Hannah's dark eyes flashed up at Mike who glanced at her as he continued to bag her things, "couple of nice gentlemen, dressed up like Mormons."

"Mike," she interrupted, "I don't have friends."

"I know," he said, passing her her bags, "that's why I told them that I haven't seen you in years."

She had one friend.

Hannah was silent as she looked into Mike's laughing eyes. Her surprised frown turned into an amused smile, and she took her bags.

"Take care Hannah!" Mike called after her, picking up his catalogue again.

She piled the bags into the passenger seat and started tossing the bundles into the back of her truck. She pulled up to the pump and began filling up the cans and then her truck. She could feel the cold creep in now that she was standing still. She patiently waited, observing the cloud of breath she was breathing out, watching the numbers on the digital screen go up.

Well there's one thing Weyland hasn't done. Killed the gas companies and done his part in preventing global warming.

Once the nozzle clicked, Hannah pulled it out, set it back in its place and turned to get in her car.

A bright shiny black truck caught her eye, parked on the opposite side of the street just down the road. She blinked, looking at it and frowned. She slipped into her truck and got in. She had two options: gun it, or pretend like nothing was happening. She wasn't one-hundred percent sure that the truck belonged to Weyland in any way; she may just be being paranoid.

So she decided on her latter option, started the truck and went on her way, evening out the road as she went.

She checked her back mirror often, but the truck hadn't followed. Good. She turned up her road and made the treacherous climb, going much slower than she wanted on some parts, but paranoia was no reason to get herself killed. Sliding off the mountain was not on her list of plans for the future. It took about a half hour uphill to get to her house, maybe longer, but finally pulled in and put it in park.

She sat for a moment, looking at the house, knowing what was waiting for her inside. She sighed and grabbed her bags and slipped out, loading one of the piles of wood under her free arm and started towards her house.

Jar-hidda watched as she unpacked her things with the same kind of curiosity she would have expected of a two year old. She glanced at him every now and then as she took the items out of the plastic bags, but didn't speak up. She had to remind herself that she was as alien to him as he was to her; she would do things that he didn't understand.

"What is the spoon for?" came his voice suddenly and she looked up at him.

"What?"

"The spoon, what is it for?"

It took her a moment to register then looked over at the spoon in her bowl, "for eating liquid food."

"Liquid?" he repeated in her voice.

"Um… watery, like soup or cereal."

He gave her a tilt of his head and rattled in confusion. Maybe he didn't understand, or maybe his species didn't have liquid diets. They seemed fond of meats, broths and stews could be made from meat, though maybe the thought of 'stew' never occurred to them? Who knew.

"Where did you learn English?"

Jar-hidda had picked up and was inspecting the spoon that had likely spurred his question. He seemed to be ignoring her as he was no doubt looking at his upside-down reflection in the surface of the metal utensil. He held it up high, then low, looking down at it.

"I have travelled here many… years," another substitute word.

"How many years?"

"Many," he repeated and her shoulders sunk. Maybe he didn't know numbers, or numbers high enough? One thing was for certain, she was more frustrated with this partial language barrier than the previous one using made-up sign language.

"Why do you travel?" she decided to ask, busying herself with putting things away.

He rattled, setting the spoon down, "to kill."

She felt ice go through her veins, but she shook it off. He was substituting a word, but he seemed so sure of that one, not hesitating like he would with other words. She slid another can of instant mashed potatoes into the cupboard and she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"To kill animals?" she tried to keep her voice even.

"Yes, animals, like you" he growled. She felt instantly better. He had been substituting a word. She shut the cupboard and gathered up the excess items to go to the storage. Jar-hidda watched her and rattled in intrigue as she made sure that her back wasn't to him on her way down. She did this for two trips, and on the third trip he laughed.

"What's funny?" she asked accusingly.

Jar-hidda regarded her for a moment, mandibles clicking together behind his mask, "you are too careful."

She blinked, narrowing her eyes, confused by what he meant. She looked back up at him and was startled by how close he suddenly was. He was very silent for such a big creature. He grabbed her shoulders and moved her a few steps back. She blinked, unsure of what he was doing but he wasn't hurting her so didn't fight back. When he let go, he took a few deliberate and slow steps back, before deliberately turning his back to her, looking at her over his shoulder.

She frowned, getting angry over this hypocrisy issue again and held tighter the things in her arms.

"Here is okay," he said turning back to her and pointing along the short distance between them, "here is… not nice."

Not nice? She looked at him, then at the space between them, then back at him. She slowly puzzled it out and turned her back to him.

"Yes," he said without anger.

It was the distance! She had been violating some sort of custom whenever she was immediately turning away from him to go somewhere, but at a certain distance, about six feet or so it looked like, _then_ it was okay to turn. This entire time, he had been laughing at her for _that _reason, and hadn't even attempted to fix it when he was pretending not to speak English.

She was the butt of so many of his personal jokes, it was getting her a bit flustered, and as she made her way downstairs she muttered under her breath, and from behind her, her own gravelly voice repeated, "dick?"


	17. In Cold Blood

"Try it."

Jar-hidda gave her a skeptical look, or at least it seemed skeptical. It was actually very hard to tell his facial expressions, there didn't seem to be much differentiation from 'intense scathing stare.' Maybe it was the yellow eyes? She probably would be better at reading his face, because he _did_ have facial expressions, but he had gone to wearing his mask nearly one-hundred percent of the time.

He looked from her, down to the bowl in front of him, and with a single claw, poked the spoon set in the bowl.

"Go on try it, it's a broth it's made from meat, it's what spoons are for."

"Meat?"

"_Amedha_."

Jar-hidda shifted, sitting tall and looking at her with surprise, his brow ridges were raised, he didn't look so intense, and his mandibles were doing the 'surprised' click pattern as he rattled. Was he surprised that you could make an entire liquid soup from meat? Maybe the idea never _had_ occurred to people of his species. Maybe they just ate meat raw and enjoyed it under a 'don't fix what isn't broken' mindset?

He cocked his head, giving a pleased rattle and took up the small spoon, which seemed even smaller in his hand, and scooped out a spoonful of broth and held it hovering above the bowl, bending over and inspecting it curiously.

"Put it in your mouth," she encouraged, and his yellow eyes flashed at her from beneath his brow. He lifted the spoon and his posture and brought it to his mandibles. A single tusk clicked against the metal and he inhaled the scent and made a grumbling noise, looking at her with suspicion. He opened his mandibles again, then closed him, tilting his head deciding how to approach the spoon. He had seen he eat with it before, he knew how it worked, she wasn't sure what his hesitation was about.

Did he not like the smell of the broth? It didn't seem like it.

Finally he opened his mandibles again and his inner jaw, but rather than bring the spoon to his mouth, he tilted his head and poured the broth into his mouth. Hannah blinked as he repositioned himself and looked at the spoon.

"This is foolish," he grumbled and put the spoon down, "why not drink from the bowl like this?" he asked and lifted the bowl to his mouth, downing the full bowl in one backwards tilt of his head, "much easier," he growled, setting the bowl down as his mandibles closed back over his mouth though quite a bit of the broth was now dripping from his jowls.

Hannah stared at him astonished for a moment, then answered, "because it's messy!" she said, jerking her hand at the dripping mess he was leaving on the island, "sometimes there are things in soup that you can't just swallow or you'll choke! Sometimes the bowls are too hot, or the soup is too hot! Smaller portions cool faster. We're not as tolerant to heat as you and my _god_ you downed that like it was a shot glass!"

She was sure most of her ramble flew right over his head. He regarded her for a second and then clicked in amusement.

"Too hot," he rumbled, clicking in laughter simultaneously. He swiped his hand across the surface of the table, 'cleaning' it, then ran his knuckles against his mandibles, rubbing the wet knuckles against his loincloth. Hannah put a hand to her forehead and sighed heavily. He tilted his head and rattled then backed away from her as she shooed him away from the spot and cleaned it properly. He grunted and stalked out of the room figuring there was something better to do with his time.

She watched him go and sneered at his back. He was still, intentionally she now knew, turning his back to her. She got it, it wasn't hard to put together; he was telling her silently that he was unafraid of and did not respect her. She felt the urge to go show him, a small fleeting notion, knowing that any attempt to 'prove herself' was going to end up with her flat on her back and maybe awake by next Tuesday, if awake at all.

She finished cleaning up, did the dishes she had been neglecting and checked her watch. She froze. The watch was a little high-tech, one of the few things she had splurged on in the name of usefulness, it had a compass function, a meager GPS function that helped keep the watch accurate in different time zones, and a calendar function, which was telling her that Christmas was tomorrow.

Had Jar-hidda really been with her that long? In a way, it seemed longer, _much_ longer, several weeks longer; and yet in a way, it felt like it had only been a few days. She frowned, putting her arm down and looking at the wall.

She hated Christmas.

She shrugged it off and moved out into her living room, looking at Jar-hidda who was looking at the books again. She tilted his head at her, then at the books again, selecting one off the shelf and opening it up, then extending it to her.

"Can't read huh?" she said and walked away, "I can teach you if you want," she took the book from his hand and turned it, standing next to him and pointing at the words as she spoke, "an introduction to the vehicle and its many working parts, including the engine, transmission-."

Jar-hidda put his hand over hers, fingers nearly covering the entire page.

"Stop," he grumbled and she looked at him, "I can't see it."

"Can't see it?" She furrowed her brow in confusion. He took the book from her, and pointed at her, "I see you," he pointed then at the fire, "I see it," he held up the book, "I don't see the book well," he opened it up and tapped his claw against the page, "I don't see it."

Hannah blinked and looked at him, then at herself, then at the fire, then at the book again. What was the difference, what did she and the fire have in common?

Heat!

"You see in infrared!" It made so much sense, he was very reptilian in nature, this whole time she was assuming he saw in the visible spectrum, when he was operating on the common visual spectrum of reptiles. Many of his actions which had seemed random made sense now.

"Infrared?" her voice repeated and she shook her head.

Bad Hannah, no big words, "heat, you see heat."

"Heat?"

"Heat," she said, pointing at herself, "heat," she said pointing at the fire, "heat," she touched his hand and he looked at it.

"Heat," he repeated in his voice, seemingly understanding, "heat, _jar._"

Hannah almost missed it, the extremely guttural word that followed her English one, like it had only been an emphasis to show he understood, but it wasn't. She furrowed her brow, picking out the word and realizing it was the first part of his name.

"Heat, _jar_," she repeated and the alien rattled.

"_Hidda_?" his language was very rough on her throat, that was for sure, it felt as much like gargling rocks as it sounded.

He shook his head, the dreads tapping lightly on his skin. He didn't know the word, and she wasn't about to play the guessing game.

"Later then," she said, taking the book, closing it and setting it on the shelf.

He turned abruptly towards the door and stared at it, rattling. It was a sound she recognized, the same cautious warning when they first met, the one he had used for the first few days while he was bedridden. She looked at the door, suddenly tense. What was outside? She remembered the puma and wolf tracks she had found. She stayed still and silent, waiting for her guest to do something. Suddenly, he was gone. Not entirely, there was a shimmer of air as he moved his hand back from his gauntlet, having activated some kind of cloaking device.

And here she thought he was just really, _really_, good at hiding.

Then she heard it: the sound of an engine.

"Go upstairs," she said reflexively and his ghostly form distorted the room beyond her vision. He went upstairs, but she didn't have time to be surprised by his obedience. She moved into the living room, going for her gun but freezing. That large black-green stain was still there, on the wood. She cursed under her breath and thought about what to do. She caught the bit of fur rug in her eye and relocated it from in front of the fire place to covering the blood stain.

By the time she was done, there was a knock on the door. The small amount of time she had to prepare was gone. She bit down hard and moved to the window, parting the curtains a bit and seeing the black truck over the snowdrift. No license plate.

She couldn't see who was knocking, but could see the suit they were wearing. She moved to the door as they impatiently knocked again. She took the time to put the chain on the door, then opened it, leaning against the wall, her hand on the stock of the rifle there.

"What do you want," she growled to the Weyland grunts. There were two of them, one was butch with the haircut to match, the other was some guy who was nothing to shake a stick at either, but with lighter hair, a little longer than his companion's.

"Miss Rousseau?" said Butch in an English accent. She glowered. They knew who she was, one didn't brave a treacherous mountain road without knowing who it was they were going to be meeting at the end of it.

"What do you want?" she repeated, tightening her grip on the gun.

"Weyland wishes to extend his apologies for what happened earlier this month. He's curious if there's some way that he can compensate you?"

That asshole, he knew what she wanted most.

"Can we come inside?" asked Butch before she could answer.

"No," she growled sharply, "and tell Weyland he knows what I want, and that's the only thing. Now get off my land."

"Miss Rousseau!" the cry was half-muffled by the wood of the door as it shut. She stood in front of it, holding onto the gun. She didn't hear anything from the other side of the door, no talking, even muffled, but also no sound of them leaving.

Then, searing pain. She collapsed to the ground, holding her gut, a single beam of light coming through a hole in the door. Her rifle clattered to the ground beside her, she because acutely aware of everything, But mostly of the blood pouring over her fingers.

It was the first time she had ever been shot.

Things moved a bit fast after that. The sound of the chain snapping and wood splintering occurred just after a malicious roar from upstairs. Blinding light poured in from the door after two shadows passed the entryway. She growled, adrenaline dulling the pain as she snagged the pant leg of one of the men. It wasn't Butch, the light-haired Guy stumbled and turned, pointing a gun at her head. She moved the barrel out of the way as it fired, burning her hand.

Her bloody hand had found the barrel of her rifle, and swung it like a club, striking the head of the guy hard enough to crack the stock. She found her footing and stood, keeping the gun pointed away from her by controlling Guy's wrist.

Butch's feet thundered upstairs, gun at the ready, turning left and then right, looking into the dark red room and slowly entering. There was a metallic sound that to anyone else would have spelt doom, but he was prepared for what he was facing, and moved out of the way. A growl emanated from behind him and he was backhanded, the backs of two blades slicing open his suit jacket and the skin of his back. He crashed against the wall, his gun clattering to the ground as he turned to face his enemy.

The large shimmering figure dissipated to reveal what he was here for. It had a canon, so Butch didn't go for his gun but instead put his fists up.

Downstairs another gunshot went off and Hannah screamed, finally twisting Guy's hand far enough that the gun was forced out of his grip. But then he punched her, a hard hook to her right cheekbone, almost enough to floor her again. It wasn't as hard as Jar-hidda's blows though.

Though she nearly had dropped, she had held tightly onto Guy's wrist, which threw him off balance. She followed with the move and brought him to his knees, then threw herself against him, wrestling him to the ground.

It was a bad move. While her body was trying its best to dull the pain, the motion of landing on top of Guy froze all her muscles as easily as if she had been tasered. It was a pause that Guy took full advantage of and reached for his gun, he struck it hard against the back of her head and pushed her off. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach, but the moment she saw the gun pointed at her again she struck her leg out. A sickening crack resounded as her heel struck his knee, and he cried out, buckling to the ground. She landed on him, knee digging into his stomach, one hand on his wrist, the other around his throat. His free-hand grabbed her wrist and tried forcing her away from him, writing his body to throw her off, turning the gun in his hand so that it was pointing towards her.

Upstairs, shattered glass scattered across the floor, Smaug made his escape towards the underside of the bed as the other creatures moved out of the way of the hulking beast as he recovered and stood up from his fall. He roared again, looking at his beaten and bloodied foe, who still was ready to fight him. It was something Jar-hidda could respect in a human, but this one was going to lose.

The alien charged forward, ducking under the human's swing and throwing his shoulder into his chest. He could hear the human's air leave his lungs, then heard his back break against the wall. The body fell broken in half, but still alive, crying out in pain. Jar-hidda ended his suffering with a quick swipe of his blades.

He bent down, flipping the body over, dragging his blades along the spine before grabbing and wrenching it out. He arched his back, mandibles flaring as he roared in victory, holding the dripping trophy. He heard a gunshot from downstairs and in two bounds was out, leaping the length of the stairs, landing like a mountain. He looked over and saw Hannah on top of Guy. His bullet had grazed her side, but this seemed to cause more rage than pain.

The young woman roared, grip tightening on his wrist and she twisted her body, pressing his hand back to the ground and her hand back against his throat. He coughed and gargled, then she lifted and smacked his hand against the ground, repeatedly until he let go. She snatched up the weapon instantly and leaned back. He took a gasp of air and his eyes opened wide. She put a bullet directly between them.

She sat still over the unmoving body, gun still pressed against the skin. She slowly eased back, falling off of him, dropping the gun and holding her stomach. She looked over at Jar-hidda, who was standing there, watching. She wondered for how long he had been there, just watching and not helping, but then the pain started coming back.

Hot skin suddenly grabbed her. There was a sound of metal and her skin felt the cold breeze coming in through the door. Jar-hidda rattled as he inspected the wound on her stomach, then moved her to look at the one on her back. He was not being particularly gentle, and she tried to fight him off. She needed to go to the hospital. Unlike him she _could._ But Jar-hidda roared in her face.

"Stop!"

And she stopped moving. He removed his medical kit from his back and opened it up, keeping one of his hands tightly on her wrists to keep her from escaping. He looked at the wound again before reaching into the kit and pulling out what looked like a screwdriver of sorts. This he stuck down deep into the wound. Hannah cursed profusely and thrashed, and Jar-hidda settled for pressing her down by the center of her chest to hold her down. The stem of the device went deep down into the wound, and then retracted out, the lead bullet attached to the end magnetically. But how? Lead wasn't magnetic?

She didn't have much mind to try to rationalize or reason it out through the pain, which continued as he took another device out, stuck it _into_ the wound, and activated it. Burning cold spread across her abdomen, and she yelled and cried, and then he pulled it out and put it back in the case. He then took his stapler, and stapled the small wound closed. He did nothing with the one on her back.

Easing up away from her, he stood over, looking down at her gasping on the ground. He rattled again as he eyes eased open to look at him.

"Don't… _ever_… do that… again," she growled.

He snorted and looked towards the door, then to her again. He growled low and hard, "you will… show me," and then he stalked off to the stairs. She sat up, pulling the front of her shirt closed, now fully knowing that he didn't care what she looked like underneath.

So it was orders now. Well if that didn't tell her exactly where she was on the pecking order. In any case, she didn't need clarification.

She was thinking the same thing.


	18. Snow Day

"_So it's attempted murder now, Mr. Smith?"_

She had gone upstairs, painfully, and found the mess Jar-hidda's room now was; the shattered cages, the dead body, the stench of meat and blood easily overpowering the musk that had built up. She found Smaug under the bed, and the tarantula had not moved far from her tank. But Kali and the pygmy chameleon were nowhere to be found.

"_Not sure what my death would have ensured Mr. Smith, I told you that it was gone, killing me wasn't going to bring it back. My silence? Who the _fuck's_ going to believe me up here?"_

She had moved the bodies outside to the dead pile. She felt slightly bad about leaving two people out in the cold to be chewed on by scavengers, but she forced herself to turn her back and limp to the house. Jar-hidda had kept Butch's skull. It disturbed her.

"_All I want is to be left alone. Stop sending people here, they're just going to keep dying. That's just more deaths that you'll need to hide away from their children, but you're all good at that."_

Jar-hidda wasted no time with letting her recover. He pushed her to get dressed, which she did so stiffly, in as many layers as she could bear to put on. He was armored up and armed, his bloody new trophy on his belt. He was taking no chances. Neither was she, pocketing her cheetah and taking her rifle.

"_I swear, if you try to pull something like this again, there'll be more blood, and maybe I _will_ go to the press."_

It had been a risky move. Sometimes threatening the predator incited it to attack rather than flee. It was something she thought about up the mountain. Each step kicked up a bunch of powder, scattering it against the otherwise immaculate blanket of white. The pain was great, as she worked damaged muscles scaling up the mountain. She paused often, gasping for breath, but Jar-hidda simply would put his hand against her back, letting her rest for literally two seconds, before pushing her on.

The one time that she fell waist-deep into the snow, feeling like she couldn't take another step, the alien lifted her effortlessly by the back of her parka, set her on her feet and pushed her forward. She wanted to turn around, fight back, tell him to back off, but she didn't, pushing on, fighting him wasn't going to solve anything. He was never forceful, the pushes never hard enough to knock her off balance, but he sure was persistent. She could understand really, the sooner they got to his ship, the sooner he could fix it and leave.

She wasn't so sure, now, that life would go back to the way it used to be.

"Don't you… an… obviously… technologically advanced… alien… have something like… GPS to find your own… god-damned shit?" She got no answer. Admittedly, he probably understood two-percent of what she said.

Finally, they made it. Bad timing. Maybe day or night didn't mean anything to Jar-hidda, but the setting sun made her heart sink. Getting down in the dark was going to be hell. Jar-hidda did not pause, walking past her, not needing her to guide him up the final ten feet to the mouth of the cave. He recognized this area, even through the fresh blanket of snow.

Hannah heaved two cloudy breaths before making her way up to where the ground leveled out slightly. She looked inside the cave where Jar-hidda entered. He paused at the mouth, opened up his wrist device and pressed buttons. A bright red image flashed above it, a bright red spot somewhere in the image, which was difficult to make out where she was, then it vanished. She wondered how it was he saw something like that if he only saw in heat, then figured that the image itself was probably made of varying degrees of heat… somehow.

The pitch of a few more buttons echoed in the cave, and then crackling. Lightning-bolt-like waves leapt over a large empty expanse, and where they moved, a large ship was revealed. It was the same kind of cloaking device that Jar-hidda used on himself.

A door opened and a ramp lowered for him to enter. Hannah marveled at its size, but could understand how it fit only one person, and the things he would require for a hunting trip. She watched him ascend into the ship, expecting the ramp to retract but it didn't. She sighed and turned, sitting down on the ground, back to the cave, facing the rest of the world, her rifle resting in her lap.

The wind was blowing steadily over the mountain, picking up the lighter flakes of snow and whisking it away in swirling sheets that hissed and glimmered. Before her was a large expanse of dark green trees, the tops reaching to skewer the multi-colored sky. Golden light beamed down through the clouds on the wild lands, scarred by the road down below.

She could see the smoke from her home, and far off in the distance, the lights in the houses of Troy were beginning to ignite, one by one. She heaved out another sigh, the cloud of vapor floating to the north, catching the orange light of the sunset.

"Hannah," came Jar-hidda's voice as the sun's light began to fade behind the horizon. She turned, watching him advance towards her, the ramp of his ship closing. He had his med-kit in one hand, and a bronze-looking giant pill in the other. He tucked the kit under one arm, taking the pill in both hands, turned both sides opposite directions and pulled them apart. Each end which had been the center sported many long points that glowed purple.

"What the hell is that?" She asked, looking from it to him.

"Your coat," he said and she looked down at her coat, "your shirt… rise them."

She blinked, "but it's _freezing_."

He laughed, then indicated for her to move it. She groaned as she lifted her shirt, wincing with the movement, exposing her stomach and the angry red wound to the cold. He moved one end of the cylinder and she had a split second to mentally prepare before he stabbed it right into her gut. She grunted painfully, stuttered profanities as she tightly closed her eyes.

She gasped when he withdrew the cylinder and eased her eyes open. The many points were no longer glowing, and no longer purple. Whatever it was had been injected into her, and it had been about as painful as being shot. She was convinced that there was no such thing as 'soft' 'gentle' or 'easy' to him or his race. There probably weren't even words for it. Everything had to be rough and painful, otherwise it wasn't worth it, maybe?

He seemed pleased, for whatever reason, and closed up the cylinder, then put it in his med-kit, which was now fully restocked, even the syringe was now full with a blue liquid that seemed more appropriate as mouthwash rather than… whatever it was used for in a syringe. If she had to guess, she would think it was some kind of anesthetic, but she didn't ask, and he closed up the kit and replaced it on his back.

She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, looking around then at him. It hurt, but the pain was swiftly dulling. Maybe the glowing stuff was the pain killer? She didn't know, but she was feeling better.

"Thank you," she said, and he looked at her sharply, grunting and tilting his head. She sighed, trying to think of how to explain _gratitude._

"You're welcome," he growled, looking away from her and down the mountain. The last bit of light was gleaming off his mask. He stood unmoving in the snow as the wind was picking up. Funny, for one who loved the heat and loathed the cold, he never showed it.

She looked over at the lights of the city below, thinking quietly to herself before asking, "do you see that, down there?"

Jar-hidda turned towards where she was pointing, tilted his head, then gave it a single shake.

"Do you see anything right now?"

"You."

"Besides me."

He gave another shake of his head, "cold… all is… dark."

Hannah hummed in thought, filing away the information for later, "how do you say 'cold' in your language?"

"_Sbec._"

Made sense to her that the word for cold sounded like a curse. She shuddered and he looked at her apathetically.

"Let's go," she said, making her way back down the mountain.

"We will… travel here again tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we'll come back tomorrow," she assured, not stopping in her descent. She was starting to freeze, and the trek down was going to be even colder, and darker.

She paused often to get her bearings, or to let her eyes adjust to the moonlight. The moon was waning, but still nearly full, it provided her with more light than she thought she would have, and she realized coolly that of the two of them, she was not the one who was blind. This gave her the advantage, and she entertained herself with probable scenarios of combat with the alien, but often told herself that they would probably all end the same way.

They finally made it back to the house, and the two of them seemed to share a simultaneous sigh of relief. Hannah tried to shut the door behind them but felt cold air leak through. The damaged frame was letting air leak through. She cursed and got right to work, as Jar-Hidda disarmed himself and sat cross-legged in front of the fire.

He looked over his shoulder at the human as she continued to test close the door and get to work nailing in some slivers of wood from near the fire.

"Hannah," he growled and she looked up at him, three nails sticking out of her mouth.

"Mhm?" talking with her mouth full would only cause greater confusion to Jar-hidda she figured.

He pulled on her shoulder and she leaned away from the doorframe, looking up at him. He gave her a quick once over, before turning away from her and going upstairs.

"Mut ta he!?" she growled through the nails but waved a hand at his back, not caring. She had to get the door fixed, otherwise the furnace was never going to shut off, and that would mean needing to go back to Troy for more gas.

It took her a few hours, hammering in slivers of wood until the door shut with a satisfying sound, and no cold came in. She tossed the hammer and remaining nails onto the table by the window and sat in front of the fire, sighing in relief and relaxing, finally. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was well past midnight.

"Merry Christmas Hannah," she sighed and shrugged out of her coat. She would be up in a few hours to take Jar-hidda up the mountain again, and not just for supplies. He was going to work on fixing his ship, not that she'd make him, but that he knew the dangers if Weyland were to come and find it themselves. His ship needed to be repaired, and him gone, before they returned.

But what would happen to her after that? One didn't just kill employees of a big corporation like Weyland and get away with it. The fact that they sent their two big boys out here proved that, probably thinking that she would be alone, and easy to deal with.

Then there was the fear that his ship _couldn't_ be fixed. She frowned as she thought of that outcome. What would she do? As she thought about it, she knew that she couldn't stay here, Weyland wouldn't leave her alone, and Jar-hidda probably wouldn't want to stay here if there was nothing tying him there. But would she go with him, given the choice? Would he let her?

She thought about Butch's skull attached to Jar-hidda's belt, he had not come out of his ship with it, which meant that he had left it there. But what was disturbing was that he was keeping it. It was a trophy to him; an animal, successfully hunted and worth preserving.

It was possible… no, _likely_, that Butch had not been the first human trophy Jar-hidda had taken. That scared her.

She shook off her thoughts. She couldn't let things like that get in the way of helping. Once Jar-hidda was gone, it would be the best for everyone involved. Except Weyland, in which case it was all the more better for her.

Having sufficiently warmed up, she stood, stretched and moved towards the stairs. She found Jar-hidda sitting in front of the fire as he had been downstairs.

"You should sleep Jolly, we'll be up again in a few hours, bright and early to get your ship fixed," she moved to the dresser and gathered her pajamas, entertaining the thought of saving a bit of time and just changing in the room, since it seemed that Jar-hidda didn't care, but then decided to keep the habit and change in the workroom.

"Fixed?" he repeated?

"Repaired?" she tried instead, since it seemed that sometimes he knew the synonym of a word rather than the word itself.

"Good," he grunted and stood up. She watched him as he moved towards and then out the door. She blinked once, then looked at the clothes in her hand. She shrugged, dressed, and got into her bed. Jar-hidda could do whatever he wanted with his time.

It did not take her long to get to sleep. She didn't dream, something she figured was a side-effect of the drugs he had given her, or she was just that tired. When she awoke, Jar-hidda was not in the room. She furrowed her brow and threw her blankets off of her. Something shuffled and she looked over, on the bed was a net, upon closer inspection it was a net suit like Jar-hidda's. It was her size.

She picked it up, the cool metal feeling strange in her hands. Flexible as cloth. She wondered what sort of metal it was, probably nothing found on this planet. She looked to the open door and strained to listen, but heard nothing. Slowly, hesitantly, she put on the suit, half-expecting Jar-hidda to come rushing in retaliating but he didn't.

She dressed over the net and went downstairs, finding Jar-hidda tinkering with something by the fire.

"I can't find the snake," he said as she approached.

"I'm not too worried," it was one thing to have her in the cage, in the house she'd go find the warmest spot, and would give them warning if they got too close. Kali was not high on her priorities.

"Thank you," she said and he looked at her with an expression that was hard to place. Skepticism maybe? It was like he was saying 'are you sure?'

She lifted the sleeve of her shirt to show the net, and he snatched her wrist faster than she could react. He snapped something onto it and a sudden heath washed over her body.

"Whoa," she looked at the new device on her wrist, recognizing one of the circular metal plates that was on his wrist device, attached to some kind of… dial that was flashing a strange red symbol. It looked a lot like a watch.

"Good," was all the alien said as he stood up and put on his mask, "let's go."


	19. Christmas

They were up at the cave again in just a few hours. Jar-hidda's crystal anesthetic-thing had apparently worn off, and she had felt the burn of pulling healing flesh the entire way up. She had been amazed though. Whatever he had put in her would be the envy of any physician anywhere. The bullet wound already looked days old into the healing process, though the staples weren't nice to look at. She could probably pull them out, but the idea of pinching them and prying them out of her tender flesh was almost sickening, so she left them in until she could work up the guts to get it over with.

She was now sitting outside the cave at the edge of the level spot where she knew some rocks would have been if there was no snow. She figured she wasn't allowed inside, and she didn't want to risk finding out, so she had parked herself on the crest on watch duty and he hadn't even paused before walking into his ship and getting to work. If that wasn't confirmation that he wanted her to stay out she didn't know what was.

She was still in one piece, even though she hurt and Jar-hidda was in the cave, in his now-visible ship, tearing things apart. She had her senses on alert for movement more than sound. With as much noise as Jar-hidda was making, no animal would dare come within two miles. It was the 'animals' that would be attracted to the noise she was watching for, and would shoot on sight. She had her rifle laying in her lap, easily accessible just in case, and she kept a look-out down the mountain, but also kept an eye on the sky. She was sure Weyland would not be above dropping mercenaries into the situation.

The day was cloudy and grey, windy, blowing loose crystals of ice and making snow-drifts along the mountain face. The sky was threatening to drop more snow on them, but all Hannah could think of was how _hot_ she was. She had already shed her parka, sitting on it to keep her rear from getting wet, but even now it seemed like it wasn't enough. She was sweating, and quite sure she was melting a nice spot in the snow the same size and shape as her ass.

She relented, stripping off the wool sweater and tying the sleeves around her waist. She could feel the sweat dripping down her back underneath her thermals, the final layer of top that she had on. She still had two layers of pants on, and the thermals were sticking uncomfortably to her legs, and her feet felt gross under two layers of socks. She kept the gloves and scarf on to provide some protection to the extremities that weren't being heated by the net.

Heaving out a cloudy sigh, Hannah turned to look at the mouth of the cave. Another roar and string of what she would assume were curses came from within the ship, amplified by the walls of the cave. There was a crash, some banging, and some metallic object came flying down the ramp, crashing twice against it, causing sparks to light up the heavy mist that was billowing out, before settling in the snow with a heavy _womph_. Jar-hidda appeared soon after, bending to take the half-buried metal canister, that was almost as tall as he was but much thinner, and he threw it back into the ship. He followed it inside as it crashed into something, and the sound of more metal things falling to a metal floor could be heard.

Apparently the primary building material for his species was metal.

Honestly though she was bored, next time she was going to bring her bow for target practice on a tree or something. For now she was entertaining herself by repeating what she could hear from behind her, roaring out of the ship, quietly to herself. If one was to learn an alien language, one of the good places to start was slang. Expletives were fun slang to start with. What little she knew in French was mostly expletives.

She didn't like the sound of his frustrated banging, crashing and cursing though. Each outburst put a cold blade of doubt into her gut, that the worst case scenario was the inevitable outcome, and he would be stranded here. She looked back to the tree line below, sighing again.

She frowned, lifting the cuff of her thermal and itching under the metal band on her wrist. She paused to look at the netting. He must have modified it from a spare that he had, fitted it to her size, with amazing accuracy. She was impressed despite herself, but to do that kind of work in just a few hours? _And_ make the heating unit? Had he not slept last night? He didn't show it if that was the case. She turned to look back at the ship.

She felt her gut clench at another roar and crash and tightly closed her eyes. She prayed that it was not as hopeless as it sounded, that there was some way of fixing things. And like a stroke of divine inspiration, she got the idea that maybe she could _help._ She didn't know how, or even if she could if Jar-hidda would just brush her off, but at the very least she could _offer._ She debated for a moment, looking at the heavy mist caused by the intense heat that was no doubt the ambient temperature of the ship.

She stood up as she heard more crashing and approached the cave. The ramp of the ship was several feet into the cave, where it was mostly hidden by shadow, but she didn't walk right up to it. She stood a few feet away and leaned down, unable to catch a glimpse of the interior of the ship, but could only see a red light through the heavy, hot mist. The air flowing out felt different, wrong, even from this distance.

"What's wrong Jolly?" she called in.

There was a break in the noise and Jar-hidda appeared out of the mist, the fog rolling off his body like some beast out of hell. He took two steps toward her, shoulders squared. She understood the gesture perfectly, without her base instincts telling her to back off.

She stepped back hurriedly, finding herself back in the full light of day within a split second, which bolstered her courage slightly.

"What the hell's you're problem!?" she snarled and he stopped, standing calf-deep in the snow, head tilted at her. He had his mask off, probably because the ship simulated whatever atmosphere he was native to, and therefore didn't need it to breathe. She composed herself and spread her hands as a gesture of truce.

"Can it be fixed?"

Jar-hidda didn't react at first, keeping his eyes on Hannah for a moment before looking back at the ship. He was breathing heavily, obviously frustrated as his clicking tusks gave away. He turned away from the ship, looking down at the snow by the side of his boot.

"Yes, but," Hannah felt a chill go down her spine, "the ship is old, it is hard to repair, and I do not have what I… want," he growled and paused, "what I… desire," he grunted and shook his head.

"What you… need?" she offered and he repeated the word in her voice, "need is more than want," she tried to explain. He gave a curt nod.

"I need… things to repair what is… not working," he rattled in frustration his fingers flexed and clenched. She almost expected those wristblades to come out but they didn't. They must work some other way besides muscle tension.

"Calm down," Hannah said, trying to sound calm herself "what do you need?"

Jar-hidda was silent, but not because he did not want to answer. She could see him struggle, eyes searching.

"I need…," he moved his hands, attempting to 'show' her, but hesitated part way through and growled, unable to effectively pantomime his technology, "_c'jit._ I need what is not here, what you do not have."

Hannah's lips thinned in thought, "can you…," she couldn't believe she was asking this, "call others of your people to bring you what you need? Or to even pick you up?"

He gave her a look like it was the stupidest thing she had ever said, and she agreed. She was trying to prevent an invasion not call one down. Jar-hidda didn't even grace that stupidity with a response.

Hannah took a breath, "okay look, I can go down the mountain into town and start buying random things, that, _maybe_, you can use," she felt a heaviness in her chest thinking about how much this was going to cost her, and the risk that whatever she got not working for him anyway. She sighed to herself in resignation, "would that help?"

Jar-hidda looked at her, clicking thoughtfully, either trying to make sense of what she said, or considering the offer, maybe both. Jar-hidda then turned his back to her and made his way to his ship with a simple, "maybe."

Hannah bristled, clenching her fists tightly before letting it go and turning. She didn't like the idea of going back into town so soon after what had happened, but being useful was better than sitting in the snow listening to Jar-hidda's rage fuel her despair. She snatched up her parka, shook it out and hung it on her shoulder. She turned to the ship, opening her mouth but her voice caught in her throat. She was going to say, 'see you at home,' or something along those lines. Instead she swallowed the valediction and headed down the mountain. He could stay in his ship if he wanted, for as long as he wanted. He didn't need to stay at her house anymore.

By the time she made it down, she was regretting moving. She threw her parka into the passenger seat of her truck and drove down the mountain. She felt the same notion that Mike had mentioned, that she was suddenly becoming a very frequent visitor to the city. This was twice now within two days, unheard of for her. She made Mike's convenience store her first stop, pulling up and sitting in her car for a moment. She sat back against her seat, looking through her windshield and into the windows of the store. She caught her reflection in the glass and hastily donned her sweater, the sleeves a little stretched from being tied.

She adjusted the shirt to fit better over her first layer, hearing the bell ring above her as she pulled the door open.

"H-Hannah!" she was expecting the surprise, "back so soon? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah Mike, I just forgot some things I was supposed to pick up last time," she answered quickly, only giving the surprised man a glance as she moved to the side of the shop that was everything but edibles. She put a hand on her hip as she perused the selection. Then she began grabbing. A battery, jumper cables, extension cords, batteries, even a few small lights, anything that had something to do with technology she grabbed one of and stacked it on the counter.

"There I think that's everything," she said, avoiding eye-contact as she hurriedly filched her wallet out of her pocket. Mike gave the pile of things a wary once-over before giving Hannah a worried look. She had her card ready to swipe, waiting on Mike, finally actually looking at the man. He was silent, holding in his concerns, thinning his lips before his shoulders sagged and he asked.

"Credit or debit?"

Hannah didn't understand why the look Mike gave her bothered her so much. It haunted her the entire drive back up the mountain, but the torturous hike up carrying the heavy bag of items did not give much room to think of anything else besides 'ow.'

She knew it was foolish to make the trek back up the mountain so late in the day, she was going to end up in the same boat as the previous night, but if Jar-hidda was going to stay in his ship, she wanted to make sure he had his things.

"Jolly I'm back!" she called into the cave, shrugging the bag off her shoulder. The red light was much brighter in the fading light of day, and she was easily able to tell when Jar-hidda was approaching by the dark shape blocking the light. She laid out the items in the snow and stepped back. The hulking figure of the alien seemed all the more imposing as darkness was falling, especially with his mask on. He bent down and touched the car battery with his claw. He outlined the top then reached for the extension cord and held the bundle close to his mask.

He rattled, pleased, gathered the things and brought them inside. Hannah gave a sigh of relief at the new fragment of hope. Jar-hidda did not come out for a long while, and Hannah turned to go down the mountain. She then heard a crackling and hissing and looked back as Jar-hidda finished tapping his wrist device. He looked back at the ship, then at her. It took him just a few strides to get to where she was, looking down at her, then he motioned with his head that they get going.

Hannah was sort-of glad, despite herself.


	20. Blood Runs Cold

Hannah officially knew all the swear words she would need to yell at any of Jar-hidda's species if they decided to invade. Everything from _c'jit_ and _pauk_, to _hac'nikt_, _daka_, and _sjauk'la_. She mused to herself if she would ever have the balls to say any of those to Jar-hidda's face if he ever pushed her that far. She sat guard outside the cave on the edge of the level ground, facing outward towards the world. She had her gun with her, but also her bow, and she had already killed a couple rabbits more out of boredom than needing the meat.

She had been Jar-hidda's 'go fer' for nearly a month now, New Year's had come and gone with a simple cracking open of a bottle of champagne and sharing some with Jar-hidda, who was not impressed. She was avoiding Mike's shop and taking special care not to visit the same establishment too often in a short span of time. She was going to have to begin cycling, maybe even go back to Mike's. It had been long enough that a return visit shouldn't be _too_ strange.

Hannah was just glad that whatever she was bringing seemed to have some use to Jar-hidda, and that meant, bit by bit, he was getting closer to leaving. There was a steadily decreasing amount of expletives that came from the ship, and today only the sounds of work could be heard.

Hannah stripped the rabbits of fur easily, and got up from her spot to set them on the edge of the ramp, "snack for you Jolly!" she called in before retreating to her post. Jar-hidda seemed to be more comfortable with her approaching the ship, maybe trusting that she wouldn't go inside. She had a feeling that she would have a similar breathing problem in his ship that he had outside of it. She would probably be able to breathe his air, but it would be difficult, painful maybe, and probably wouldn't last forever.

She had quite a few running theories about Jar-hidda and his species, things that she thought of as she sat bored in the snow. Language was one. For a creature with no lips, there were quite a bit of sounds that he would make that would require lips, like 'm' and 'p.' Yet his language was full of sounds like that. She theorized that the clicking rattling noises he made had been his race's original language, which could have worked something like Morse code, or like the clicking languages of Africa. But as they began to travel through space and use their natural parroting ability on prey, they began to borrow sounds and steal words, sort of like English, and were able to construct a more 'verbal' language that eventually became the primary form of communication.

That was just a theory, it was possible that the parroting ability gave immediate rise to a verbal language, and that the clicking was only ever used to express emotion, like the difference between a dog's vocalization and its tail.

Hannah sat back down on her parka and bundled up the rabbit hides to be carried down with her. Jar-hidda might like them. She was dressed in a tank-top, the metal net suit underneath it, but visible above the collar, and down her arms. She had only one layer of bottoms in the form of jeans, and only one pair of socks under her hiking boots. She had gotten used to the odd sensation of dressing for summer while the snow was still waist-deep.

She was musing to herself theories about a society that revolved around hunting, chin rested on her hand, when she felt the heat of Jar-hidda's hand on her shoulder.

"Are you… tired?" He asked.

"Bored," she corrected, handing him the bundle of rabbit pelts, which he took without ceremony or gratitude, the same way a clerk would accept payment, or a landlord rent.

He rattled and repeated the new word, hanging the furs in a net attached to his belt. He had one of the rabbits with him, eating the meat straight off the bone. Maybe that should have disturbed her, but it didn't anymore.

"Go hunt," Jar-hidda said suddenly and Hannah gave him an incredulous look.

"Really?" she asked. She was stuck here on guard duty, making sure no peons came crawling up on Jar-hidda with his back turned. She figured her role had been pretty well understood by the alien. True, there had been no incidents yet, but she was hesitant to risk it.

Jar-hidda nodded and pointed down the mountain, "go hunt if you're bored. Two hours won't kill me."

Hannah couldn't help but smirk at that. It seemed like such a human thing to say, "alright," she got up, taking her bow, slinging the rifle over her shoulder so that the strap was across her chest. She wouldn't be using the gun to hunt, too noisy and less sport, but she wanted it with her just in case.

"_Payas leitjin-de_, good hunting," Jar-hidda growled. Hannah blinked at the sudden serious reverence he showed, bowing his head slightly before stepping back away from her, giving her the proper distance that she could turn away immediately. She looked at the alien from down her shoulder, brow furrowed as she hesitantly turned and moved down the mountain.

Her steps crunched lightly in the powder-y snow, sliding every now and then, being careful to not lose her footing, or to cause much disturbance to the blanket. The last thing she wanted to do was trigger an avalanche. She had to go far away from where Jar-hidda's ship was. With the noise he was making up there, though she herself couldn't hear it, all the animals would have given a mile-wide berth to the area.

She was going towards the Northern side of the slope where the deer herd tended to frequent. Hopefully Jar-hidda hadn't hunted them out of the area. If he had, she'd have to look into baiting them into the area, as much as she didn't want to. It was a hard winter for the animals, they were here because there was some food here, but not enough to keep them if they felt threatened.

She stopped her descent when she heard a bunch of crows. The birds were useful for giving away the position of dead things. It was off to the right of her, more towards the Northern face of the mountain. It was probably where Jar-hidda had left the remains of a kill, because she knew she hadn't hunted this side of the mountain in a long while. Curiosity got the best of her and she made her way towards the bird. Once she got close enough, she could see though the trees that there were raw rib-cages hung to the branches, and a pile of remains in the center of the circle.

She crossed tracks in the snow, but the powder was too fine to hold a print, so she wasn't sure what made them. She remembered that there were some wolves in the area, who would definitely be attracted to carrion. It didn't take her long to reason that Jar-hidda was using this area to bait more dangerous game than some starving herbivores. She looked towards where she could see the black forms of the birds and thought better of investigating. Wolves normally wouldn't attack but with as hard of a winter as they were going through, it was more than likely that they would defend a cache of food if they had it.

Hannah readied her rifle, just in case, and turned away from the birds to head back the way she came. She got maybe four feet away, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and something suddenly landed hard on her back. She fell face-first into the snow, pain searing through the back of her head as teeth clasped down around her skull. She twisted her body and threw the weight on her back around until she managed to grab a handful of fur and pull.

There was a haunting scream and the weight lifted off of her. Hannah scrambled up, dazed, feeling blood run down through her scalp as she whipped around to face her attacker. It was a cougar, a thin cougar. Her rifle had disappeared in the snow, she spent only a second scrambling for it before she stood up. The cougar would have normally run away after its prey started fighting back, but it was starving, and she could see it weighing its options, crouched with its tail flicking.

Hannah screamed at it and it flinched, but didn't run away, still debating if the meal was worth it. Hannah didn't hesitate, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her cheetah, taking aim. She fired once and missed, the white snow spraying up next to the cougar who turned and ran. She lowered her arms with a sigh of relief, wincing in pain and touching the back of her head, looking at the blood staining her fingers. It could have been worse, it could have gone for her neck.

Then it got worse. Hannah jumped when she heard a scream, and saw the cougar barreling down on her. It was desperate. Hannah raised her gun and fired twice, able to see where the bullets impacted the cat's body but it still came for her. It leapt onto her before she could get a third shot off, knocking her down into the snow.

She lifted an arm to protect her throat and the cougar bit down on it, she yelled out in pain, her hand still tightly gripping the cheetah though the cat was intent on tearing that arm off. She began punching the cougar with her empty hand, trying to cause it enough pain that it would get off of her. She grabbed and pulled its ear, digging her nails into the skin and it let go of her arm. She turned her gun up, point blank to its throat and fired repeatedly.

The cat fell dead on top of her, sinking her a bit further into the snow. She laid there for a moment, gasping for air and whimpering. She finally pushed the cougar off and looked at the damage done to her arm. It looked like she had put it through a grinder, she figured the back of her head looked only slightly better.

Hannah shoved the cheetah into her pocket and sat still for a moment, letting it all sink in, gaze wandering over all the red-colored snow. She slowly stood up, feeling sore all over, and turned to start looking for where her rifle had gone. There was a crackling noise and Jar-hidda appeared not ten feet away from her. She blinked, wondering for a moment how long he had been there.

"Good kill," he said and Hannah felt anger sear through her.

"You _dick_!" she yelled storming over to him and hitting his chest as hard as she could with her left hand, "you were watching the whole fucking time weren't you!? And you didn't do anything to help me! I could have died!"

She hit him again before favoring her injured arm, taking a step back away from the alien, glowering at him. Then slowly, she began to put two and two together. She had followed the direction Jar-hidda had pointed in, the area was baited for dangerous game. He had followed her and watched.

"You set me up," she said in disbelief, staring at the alien as he lifted the cougar up to examine it, "you fucking set me up for this, didn't you? Didn't you!?"

Jar-hidda turned to look at her with that expressionless red mask.

"Why!?" she felt so betrayed, after all she had done to keep him alive, he had tried to get her killed.

Jar-hidda was silent for a moment, turning away from her and turning his face up to the sky as he rattled.

"To… show me your strength."

Hannah blinked, brow furrowed. After a second comprehension filled her and she growled, "it was a test."

Jar-hidda gave her a short nod before using his wristblades to relieve the corpse of its spine and skull. He walked over to her and handed her the 'trophy' saying, "you did good."

Hannah looked at the face of the cougar, twisted in death, then punched Jar-hidda one last time before snatching the skull from him, "help me find my gun you dick."


	21. Avalanche

A nice, long, hot bath had done nothing to improve her mood, but it did get all the blood off and out of her hair. She had left the door open to keep an eye on Jar-hidda, not for the previous fears that he would vanish on her, which really was his choice either way, but to keep an eye and ear on what he was doing and planning. The last thing she needed was for him to set up another 'test,' her imagination running with the thoughts that there was still a wolf pack of unknown size running around the area also very hungry.

Smaug was little comfort, sitting there quietly on the edge of the bathtub, but it was better than nothing. Once she was out, she bandaged her arm from her wrist to her elbow, pretty sure that nothing was broken but acknowledging that something was likely fractured. Jar-hidda apparently did not think these wounds were grievous enough to require that health shard this time around. That was alright with her. Her skin from the last use had been very sensitive, bruised, with a nice little circle of bleeding holes like she had been shot with the world's weakest shotgun. She had also developed some kind of rash around the injection site, where her skin was red, dry and flaky.

She should have thought of the possible effects of alien medicine _before_ letting Jar-hidda stab her. But everything had eventually faded away. She didn't want to see if it would happen again.

However, Jar-hidda also did not give her a day to recover, and they were back up the mountain the next morning.

Hannah smoldered on her spot, favoring her injured arm, still sore at Jar-hidda, taking backwards glares over her shoulder at the ship within the cave. Several thoughts of taking vengeance had popped up in her head, and were dismissed after only a couple minutes of entertainment. There was literally nothing she could do to the alien. He had been shot point-blank multiple times in the chest and the bullets never went past the muscle. True, maybe her rifle, which was more powerful than a handgun, might do something, but on the chance it didn't, she'd be dead.

Besides, she didn't want to kill Jar-hidda, just get even. So She spent her time trying to think of ways to _annoy_ the giant killer alien, which sounded like a bad idea in of itself. At the very least she was warm, Jar-hidda's gift never failed to keep her toasty, after the initial start-up shock, kind of like touching hot metal in the summer sun, at first shocking, but eventually the skin got used to it.

She shot another glare over her shoulder as she heard more of his cursing and something breaking. It was hard to feel sorry for him over the pain in her arm. Then the alien stepped out of his ship, materializing out of the steam and approached her.

She stood, turning in her spot so that she was facing him by the time he got to her.

"Can you go get more things?" he growled at her. She wondered how detailed his vision was, if he could see how pissed she looked, because he had asked in a rather polite manner. But she was in no mood to please. She folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow. He looked at her for a moment with those yellow eyes of his, before turning his back to her and walking back towards his ship.

Oil to the flame.

Her nostrils flared, she tightly set her jaw, grinding her teeth. She glanced down, and without really thinking about it, bent and grabbed a handful of snow, packing it tight. With all her frustration behind her hand, she chucked the mass of cold that he hated so much. She missed her intended target of the back of his head, hitting instead square between his shoulders, but he froze. She saw his shoulders stiffen as the snow melted and ran down his spine. He turned his head slowly to look at her over his shoulder, and she knew she was in for some real trouble. She stood tall and held her head high. No more pushing her around, no more turning his back to her, he was going to see she meant business. It was going to hurt like hell, but he would see.

He turned to face her slowly, shoulders square, all seven feet of muscle ready for an attack. She readied herself for the pain, assuring herself in her mind that it had been worth it. He stalked over to her, slowly, but she held her ground. She clenched her fists and her jaw. He got right in front of her, looked down at her, rattled. Then he lifted his hand and pushed it against her shoulder with the force of a jack-hammer, sending her sprawling in the snow. She grunted, feeling the cold against her skin between the lines of wire. She quickly scrambled up, only to have a huge amount of snow dumped on her.

She froze, feeling the cold trickle through her hair and down her skin. She looked over at Jar-hidda, shaking the melted snow off his hands before turning away again. She blinked once, wondering why he hadn't been rougher than that, then grabbed more snow and threw it at him, causing him to freeze again. He rattled a warning to her as he turned to glower at her. What he did next surprised her.

Jar-hidda bent his knees and spread his arms wide, but rather get into that familiar battle stance, he scooped a pile of snow into his arms, compacted it with a squeeze and held it over his head. His battle roar reverberated through the mountains.

Many thoughts crossed Hannah's mind at that moment: '_well, there go all the animals_' as every bird on the mountain took off in flight, '_oh shit what have I gotten myself into?' _looking at the large hunk of snow ready to be hurled at her, and finally '_wait, does he think I'm playing?'_ Rather than face her like he had the last time she challenged him, he was simply throwing snow back at her. This had turned into what would probably be the most brutal snowball fight she had ever gotten into. This was not what she wanted, she wanted him to take her seriously, to recognize that she was more than what he was treating her like.

She didn't have much time to think as a large heavy mass of snow fell on top of her. She was buried up to her knees in it, and shuddered at the cold, scooping up another ball in retaliation, throwing it right at his face and hitting his chest, and he bent down to continue the cycle. The world's strangest snowball fight raged for a whole three or four seconds before Hannah paused.

She heard thunder, but the sky was clear. In this area, it could only mean one other thing. She looked up above Jar-Hidda, above the cave to the top of the mountain they stood on. The snow was coming down. Her entire body laxed like she was going to pass out. It came as a surprise when she was suddenly struck against her middle and whisked off her feet. At first she thought Jar-hidda was unaware of impending disaster and had taken the snowball fight to a new level, one she had previously desired.

But she never hit the ground. Jar-hidda had her firmly under his arm, and was bounding towards the cave, avoiding what looked like to him, a giant wave of black hell bearing down on the both of them. He sunk deep into the snow with every step, all but taking a flying leap into the cave. A few seconds later, the opening was covered, and the snow piled in all the way up the ship's ramp.

Hannah dangled from underneath Jar-hidda's arm as he turned to face the snow, able to hear the wave crashing through the trees below. Hannah hoped the avalanche would settle before it reached her house. And then she was on her hands and knees on the ground, unceremoniously dropped by the alien. Jar-hidda walked away from Hannah and got to work removing the snow from his ramp, which was already melting and dripping onto the cave floor.

Hannah stood up, brushing off her knees and looked around the cave. She knew its underground system like the back of her hand, and knew that the only way out was through the snow. But with how warm Jar-hidda's ship was making everything, it was likely that the snow would melt and be thin enough to dig out of in just a few hours.

Then the odd thought cropped up. Why had Jar-hidda saved her? Wouldn't outrunning the snow be just as good a test as sicking the panther on her? She gave the alien an odd look as he made his way back up the ramp and into his ship. She stood in her spot for a moment before walking up to the ramp as well. She leaned over, peering inside, but couldn't see Jar-hidda. She turned her ear towards the inside of the ship to try to hear what he was doing. She could hear hissing and banging, seemed he had gotten back to work.

"Hey Jolly?" she called, "can I come in?"

The banging stopped for a moment, then started up again. Unsure if he even answered loud enough to be heard over the hissing, Hannah took a step onto the ramp and waited, hesitating before climbing up. Inside was very spacious. The ship itself was maybe just over forty-feet long and at the very least twenty-feet wide. Looking about, she figured this was like what she imagined living in a mobile home would be like, since Jar-hidda was alone.

In here was sweltering, and it was very humid. It was hard to breath, and the air had an odd taste to it. Immediately she found herself in some kind of foyer, with left or right being her only direction choices. It was difficult to discern where the banging was coming from, and after a short moment decided to go left. The hallway curved towards the front of the ship. The hallways were lit but seemingly not for her benefit. It seemed to be the same kind of infrared heat lights she used for her reptiles. Luckily it allowed her to see well enough not to trip over the various pedestal-like things she kept passing by.

A door came up on her right, a very wide metal door that looked like it may open down the middle, but that may have been just how it was carved. She moved her fingers along the seam, then held her ear to it to see if Jar-hidda was inside. Her body was already begging for her to leave for the colder and drier air outside, but curiosity was starting to get the best of her. She looked around for a way to open it and saw to the side a sort of panel with red symbols on it, the same kind of symbols on Jar-hidda's wrist gauntlet. She put her fingers on it and found to her surprise that where the symbols were lit up was actually warmer against her skin than where the rest of the panel was unlit. That was how Jar-hidda could read them; the symbols gave off heat.

Pondering the panel for a moment, she wondered if there was some kind of code she needed to input in in order to open the door. She decided to try poking the panel first, and like some kind of miracle, that seemed to work. The door opened by sliding into the wall in one solid piece. The room within was cast in the same red light as everything else, revealing a large open space. When she stepped on, the lights seemed to shift, to become more yellowish, and for a brief moment she wondered what kind of purpose the different lights served.

And then she froze.

Before her, on all three sides and the wall behind her. Skulls. Tons of skulls. A few species she recognized. One was a large bear skull, go figure. But others were alien. Literally. One such skull was elongated and oblong-shaped with a squat face that almost looked human. Another skull was almost spade shaped, and appeared to have no place for its eyes. The light gleamed off of each skull, polished white.

And to her right: the stuff of nightmares. Human skulls, at least ten of them, some of them had filed teeth, one was Butch's skull. Hannah stood still. The skulls stared back. Empty sockets warned and accused.

_See the monster you're helping?_

It was impossible to breathe, and the sweat could have been from the heat, or the cold horror staring at her in the face.

What the hell kind of creature was she helping?

She wasn't sure how long she had stood there, staring at the skulls. But she jolted out of her stupor in surprise at a vice grip on her shoulder. Her eyes stared wide up at Jar-hidda, who looked from her to the skulls.

"Good hunting," he rumbled and Hannah felt her heart stop. He rattled and clicked fondly at his trophies, then pulled her back, away from the wall and out of the room.

"You can't…," he growled, trying to find the words, "the… wind is bad for you."

"Air," she half-heartedly corrected. He repeated the word and half-lead half-pushed her back out of the ship. Hannah stood still for a moment before slowly sitting down on the ramp, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at the snow. She felt like her whole world had just come crashing down. What was she going to do now?


	22. Cold Shower

What the hell was she doing? That was the thought on her mind the whole day. Jar-hidda's ship had melted so much of the snow that she was up to her ankles in water by the time the alien came out of his ship to help dig them out. She had been afraid for a while that he was planning on having the two of them just stay on the ship until the snow was gone. If it weren't for the fact that he needed _things_ maybe he would have.

But he had dug them out, and she was here now, in Troy, driving around in half of a daze, gathering random mechanical and electronic devices that may be of use to the hunter. The hunter of her own species. Why was she still helping him? Why was she out here running his errands so that he could fix his ship and then what, hunt _more_ humans?

More than once she pulled over to rethink her life, so as not to cause an accident being as distracted as she was. She had screamed at herself, yelled, pounded the steering wheel, but in the end started up the truck and kept making stops. She just wanted him gone, out of her life, the only thing was, could she live with shunting him away to be someone else's problem. Someone else's killer?

Did she hate humanity enough to do that?

She had a truck bed full of random crap, and she pulled up to a gas-station, only realizing she had come to Mike's little store, maybe out of muscle memory. She sat in her truck for a couple minutes, staring out the windshield and through the window where she could see Mike manning the register and reading a magazine. She debated going inside for a long while, before giving up and slipping out of her truck.

The bell rang overhead as she stepped inside and Mike looked up with a smile that faded instantly.

"Jesus Christ Hannah you look like you've been through hell!"

"No," she said, exhausted, "just an avalanche."

"My god, I heard about the avalanche on the mountain, didn't figure you'd be high enough to be in it! Are you alright? Need a doctor?"

"I'm alright, Mike," she insisted half-hearted as she grabbed a digital thermometer, not sure what use it would be to Jar-hidda but it was something, "and I was visiting my mom's cave when it happened, so it… kinda literally just passed over me."

"Lucky," breathed the old man, setting down his magazine, "bet she was watching out for you there. Did it reach your house?"

"No, it settled about a mile above my house," she said.

"Lucky," Mike said again, leaning against the counter, watching Hannah with more than a little concern in his eye. He was quiet as she wandered around, picking up little things here and there before making her way to the counter.

"Getting wood and gas again this time?" he asked as he slowly began checking her out.

"Yeah," Hannah leaned heavily against the counter, keeping her head down. She didn't want Mike to see the look in her eyes. She thought for a moment then asked, "hey Mike, you still got that old generator at your house?"

Mike looked up at her with surprise, then thought for just a second, "yeah, it's still there."

"Do you want to sell it?"

Mike blinked and looked at Hannah for a moment in consideration, "yeah, hundred bucks says it's yours."

"I'll take it," she said, pulling out her card, "just add it to my charge, or do you need cash?"

"I'll just ring you up here, and I'll give Ellen a call to bring it up."

Hannah couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of little old Ellen lifting the generator into a truck all by herself. Apparently that was the sentiment of the woman herself when Mike called her up, and continued to say, "just bring it up, get John to help you."

Once he hung up, Hannah hung out in the store for a while, pretending to watch the small TV, wondering if anything relevant to her would crop up on the news. It didn't take very long for Mike's truck to pull up next to Hannah's and an elderly woman with white hair stepped out of the passenger side of the car, and a young man with dark brown hair stepped out of the driver's seat. As Hannah was stepping out to help, Ellen happily greeted her, hugging her, checking her face.

"Hannah dear, it's been so long, I never see you, you're looking thin you— haven't been sleeping."

Damn Ellen and her keen observational skills.

"It's been a stressful past couple of days."

"She got caught in that avalanche," Mike said from the counter.

"Oh dear, is that where you hurt your head?"

Dammit!

"No I uh…."

"Jeez mom, leave the poor lady alone."

Hannah looked up at the young man, who had managed the generator off of the one truck and into hers, now up in her bed tying it down.

"Fixing your truck up, Hannah?"

"Just stocking up in case I get snowed in again," Hannah said to John. John was a handsome man, a bit scruffy, but she liked that. Took a lot after his mother, though, as genetics always seemed to dictate; had her eyes and nose.

"I can help with that John," Hannah called, trying to maneuver around Ellen.

"I've got it Hannah, your arm's hurt," dammit.

"He can do it hun, let me talk to you. Now I told you living alone on that mountain was dangerous, what if you had been buried? No one would have known to come looking for you? You should move down here, get a real home with working electricity and running water-."

"And date John?" sighed Hannah.

"Yes, exactly that, he's a man who can take care of you, a good man, you don't have to live alone in that cabin, give him a chance."

"How old is John?" Hannah said briskly, looking at the old woman.

"… Thirty-two," she answered hesitantly.

"And what's my rule?" this was a discussion they had had before, multiple times.

"… No more than seven years, but that's silly dear, he's close enough, you're both mature adults who can handle yourselves-."

"Ellen, I don't like thinking that I'm dating someone who was born while I was in school one day. I'm sorry."

The elderly woman sighed, "alright," certainly this was not the last time this would be brought up, "and remember dear, you're always welcome to our home, for Christmas, New Years, Tax Day-."

"Christ Ellen," Mike looked over at his wife, who cut herself short and gave an innocent look to the older man. It was clear that Ellen would have wanted a daughter, maybe not instead of a son, but a daughter to go along with.

"I know Ellen, I've just been very… very busy."

"Living up in the mountains foaging for food?"

"Mom, enough, leave her alone," John walked up, dusting the rust off his hands and smiling at Hannah.

"She needs the wood too son," said Mike, returning to his magazine.

"I can get the wood, thank you," she gave a little nod to John, then a small hug to Ellen," it was nice to see you again," sort of, "I've got to get this done and get back up the mountain."

"Alright dear," Ellen sighed, defeated, giving her another hug, "wow, you're really warm. Don't be a stranger."

She extended her hand to John, but quickly switched to offering him her uninjured one. He gave a small laughed and shook her off-hand with his off-hand. She got right to piling the wood into her truck as the two of them drove away.

She watched them leave with a backwards glance, then kept stacking wood. She backed the truck up to the station and began filling the empty gas cans, setting them in the small spaces of the bed left available. The whole process took maybe fifteen minutes. And then:

"Hello, are you Miss Rousseau?" came a heavily accented voice behind her. Her muscles tensed and her knuckles turned white against the tailgate she was about to shut. She gave a fierce glance over her shoulder, but it wasn't what she thought it was. The man she was looking at, maybe her age, thin-faced but very tall. He wasn't dressed like a Weyland grunt, hell, he wasn't dressed appropriately for Montana's weather wearing just a red turtle-neck sweater, his jeans and boots definitely not meant for hiking.

He had a bit of nerdiness about him, but it might have just been his face, and his accent was difficult for her to place, Irish or Scottish if she had to guess. If he was with Weyland, he was not one of the usual flunkies.

"What do you want," she said icily, slamming the tailgate shut.

"Ah!" that small breath was far too excited and she got paranoid again, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my name's Jacob Miller," he extended his hand, but it was left alone out in the cold. He clenched his fingers into his palm and retracted the friendly greeting, but not the optimism, "you're very hard to find you know," he said and looked down, searching his pockets.

"Should be a clue," she glowered, repeating her question, "what do you want?"

"Ah, I was sent by, uh, Miss Woods to come find you," Hannah didn't recognize the name, shifting weight to one foot and folding her arms, "I had a letter I may have left it in the car," he glanced back and Hannah looked beyond him. There was a little grey Subaru parked a bit away from the gas station, where she saw another man sitting in the passenger seat. It was obviously a rental car, and these two best pray that there wouldn't be any snow; even a light dusting would keep them in this town for days with that fragile thing.

"But I promise you I was sent by her to find you," Hannah turned, waking alongside her truck to her door, "no wait! She says that she's ready to talk, that she thinks it's safe now," Hannah's hand paused on the cold metal handle. She hesitated a moment before glancing at him with hard eyes.

"After the incident in two-thousand four, Weyland harassed and threatened her. She had to leave country, go into hiding, but they followed her. You see it's taken her this long to get them off her heels."

Hannah was frozen. She recalled now, the woman being escorted down the hall, strange scar on her face, looking remorseful as Hannah begged her to tell her what had happened. Alexa Woods, the only survivor from that expedition twenty-five years ago.

"Is there some place private we can talk?" Jacob's voice came through the haze of her mind and she turned to star at him dumbly.

"No," the answer came out, airy.

Jacob thinned his lips, "alright, come with me," he said and moved back towards the car. Hannah watched him walk away, hand still poised to open her door. He stopped and looked back at her. Her fingers slipped from the door.

She moved to the car, and he opened the door for her to get into the back seat. She hesitated at the presence of the other man, "that's my brother Scott. He doesn't bite."

"Much."

"Where are we going?" she asked, sliding in and doing up her seat-belt.

"Ms. Woods and Mr. Verheiden have a hotel room under Verheiden's name, we were hoping you would have a place we could talk at, but I guess we'll have to do it there."

Hannah didn't like the addition of another name to this game. But if it was going to give her the answers she had wanted for the past twenty-five years, she'd risk it.


	23. Frozen Into Memory

The drive was not far, Troy was not a very big city. Not so small that everyone knew everyone, but small. Hannah recognized the name of the place they pulled up to, Lake Creek Inn. She'd never stayed there, obviously, and she didn't know what it was like. But if it was the motel of choice for someone who's been trying to hide, she'd trust it, for now.

Jacob seemed to understand the idea of 'discreet' and didn't park right in the front of the building, but rather across the street from it. Hannah got out of the car, as quiet as she was for the ride, and followed the brothers into the inn. It wasn't a bad place, was decorated in a rustic way, the way that she liked it, but as inviting as it was, Hannah couldn't wait to leave.

It was almost literally ten feet forward and a left turn down the hallway to where Ms. Wood's room was. She could hear talking inside, and Jacob did the knocking. Three knocks, then an answer: "girl scout cookies?"

"No, ducks," Jacob replied to the man's voice. The door was unlocked, and Hannah was let in.

"We brought her," said Scott, finding a place to sit, which left only one other place to sit.

"Thank you for coming Hannah," said Jacob, Hannah didn't really hear, she was looking at the woman who, like her, was on that cusp of the age of being 'old' but she had bags under her eyes. Alexa Woods was sitting on one of the beds in the room. There was still that strange scar on her cheek, but now it was healed and faded, rather than fresh.

"Who's the other one?" she asked, indicating the man in the chair at the only desk in the room.

"Junior," he introduced, himself, extending his hand, "Mark Verheiden Junior," he received the same response Jacob had, "sorry for the weird secrecy, but as it is, Weyland's got it out for Alexa."

"We were the only ones she knew from our father, she's been writing us letters, luckily we're smart enough to break the code she wrote them in. We've been planning this meeting for quite a while, but we needed Weyland to lose track of Alexa first," Jacob explained.

Hannah looked over at the woman, who gave her a smile as Scott added, "then we hunted down Mark, it was lucky he was named after his father, finding you was the hardest, we've been looking for almost a year."

"So what now?" Hannah asked, leaning against the closed door.

"Now," Alexa began, shifting her seat on the bed, "I'll tell you what happened, what _really_ happened."

Hannah set her jaw. She had been waiting for this her whole life, and now she was going to get it, whether she liked it or not.

Alexa classed her hands in her lap and looked at them, as if figuring out how to began, "as you all know, your parents and I were hired by Weyland to do a job in the arctic."

"Some, biological dig and ice-cuts is what our father told us," said Scott

"Digging for oil was my father's excuse," Junior added.

Jacob looked at Hannah, and she said quietly, "my mother was a mercenary. She just said she would be back in a month or so."

Alexa's face softened and Hannah set her jaw again. She didn't need to be felt sorry for.

"There was another man named Sebastion, who was an expert on archeological places and artifacts and ancient cultures," the sudden odd look was unanimous, what was that kind of person doing on a team in the ice? "We weren't there for ancient bacteria, or oil. Weyland's satellites had picked up a sudden heat-bloom under the ice of Bouvet Island. It revealed a pyramid buried several miles under the ice."

Alexa took a breath and began to explain, "when we arrived, there were plans to dig a hole down to the pyramid, but we found that someone else had already done that, the tunnel appeared within a day. Weyland wanted to be the first down there, so without proper training or investigation, we went down through that tunnel, and we found the pyramid. We didn't know what was waiting inside," Alexa suddenly looked old as her focus faded slightly. She wasn't seeing them anymore, she was seeing the temple under the ice, untouched by millennia.

"When we went inside, Sebastian confirmed hieroglyphics from all three cultures, and we found the entrance to a sacrificial chamber and beneath it a sarcophagus. We had split into two, one to stay in the chamber, the other to check below. Your mother was one of the ones that stayed behind."

Hannah felt tightness in her chest and her throat felt dry. She tried to swallow past it but couldn't.

"We found weapons in the sarcophagus, that when we removed them it caused the pyramid to shift. We heard screaming above us, and tried to make it back to the others, but we never made it."

Hannah let out a breath. So even the one who was there, didn't know how her mother had actually died. It was disappointing, but it was more than Weyland ever gave her.

"As we kept moving, we soon realized we weren't alone. Someone had started killing us, trying to get the weapons back. Some kind of alien hunters. They killed Maxwell, one of Weyland's personal guards, and a few others, but then a black serpent creature killed one of them. Turned out that's what they wanted to hunt in the first place, and they had lured us into the pyramid to spawn them, they need hosts to incubate in, and so these hunters needed sacrifices to have their hunt. "

Hannah's brow furrowed, the same sort of confused skeptical look crossed Mark's face, but from the looks of it, Scott and Jacob had the basic idea of what had happened already. Hannah couldn't shake the sudden chill though. Other people knew about aliens and were hunting them, she though having Jar-hidda was a problem, why invite a bunch of parasitic black bugs to come play? She had a sickening feeling about what had happened to her mother.

"We were able to escape in the confusion; the hunters forgot all about us, that was when we got separated from Graeme and Verheiden. As we were trying to leave, one caught up with us, and Weyland stayed behind to try to buy us some time, which is when we last saw him. Sebastion and I we…," she sighed, "that's when we found out about the hunters and the serpents and the reason we were even here. Despite this we… we decided to help the hunters and return the gun that we had, but Sebastian was dragged away by one of the serpents. I met up with one of the hunters soon after that, I returned his gun and… I don't know why, but he took me along."

Alexa looked like she was in pain, biting her lips, but steadying herself to continue, "we found the nest of the serpents, which is where I found Sebastian, Mark, and Graeme, they had become hosts to the serpents and had died. The hunter I was with decided that the hunt was a lost cause, and planted a bomb in the nest. We escaped out of the tunnel, and he destroyed the pyramid to make sure none of the serpents reached the surface. He took his mask off, he was, pretty ugly actually," she joked through her pain, "kind of like a crab with a face."

Hannah felt like she had been punched in the gut. Breath left her and she stared wide eyed at Alexa as pieces began clicking. She hadn't meant humans that hunted aliens, but aliens who were hunters, "he gave me this scar as a mark of honor," Alexa sniffed, her eyes wet with tears. Hannah felt light-headed, "then the serpents' queen broke through the ice and attacked him. We managed to get her tied down to a water tower, but she killed him just before she fell into the ocean. Then others came and took him away," Alexa sniffed again, tears staining down her cheeks though she kept a solemn face. She reached behind her, pulled up a parcel that was hidden between the wall and the bed, and tenderly unwrapped it.

One look and Hannah was done. The edges of her vision went black and she had a vague sense of falling down. She was awake an instant later, the cold air hitting her face causing her stomach to churn and she was sick in the snow.

"Okay, maybe getting her air was a bad idea," said one of the brothers.

Breathe Hannah, breathe," said Alexa who was holding her shoulder, rubbing her back like a child. Hannah was shuddering, sputtering, trying to pull herself back together but couldn't.

"Jesus Christ," said Junior, "aliens, honest-to-god aliens killed our parents, and you expect her to _not_ freak out like that?"

"I'm sorry Hannah," said the other brother.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but calm down, we need to get back inside."

"That thing- that thing-," she gasped hyperventilating, she knew what it was, she had seen one like it. She couldn't grasp it, could believe that this entire time, for the past two months, she had been housing, taking care of, and helping a member of the people responsible for her mother's death.

Alexa had a strange look on her face, she removed her hand from Hannah's back and looked at it, then at Hannah. Hannah looked at Alexa and her face twisted in a slew of agonizing emotions.

"These alien hunters," she said quietly, "have four mandibles over a smaller inner mouth, and have black dreadlocks, right?"

Alexa slowly moved away from Hannah who coughed and spat on the ground. The younger woman forced herself to her feet, still feeling ill, but reached up to her jacket's zipper and undid it, showing to Alexa the wire mesh suit peaking above the collar.

"One of these… crashed into the mountain above my house in December."

She could see the looks of disbelief on the others' faces; disbelief and yet a horrified acknowledgment that what she said was true.

"He was seriously injured, and Weyland's people came to get him, nearly killed him. I… I healed him up, and I've been helping him fix his ship-."

"What!? Why?" yelled Mark

"I didn't know what he was, I just thought he was some alien who crashed here on accident!"

"So you helped him!?"

"I was under the impression that having a member of an alien species gunned down by a bunch of humans may give rise to an alien invasion, I was trying to prevent that!"

"Guys, not here, not in the open," begged Jacob and Hannah shut her mouth but Mark kept going.

"These things killed our parents."

"I didn't know that until two minutes ago, and neither did you!"

"Calm down, calm down. Hannah," the exasperated young woman looked over at Alexa's concerned gaze, as she gripped Hannah's shoulders and made her focus on her.

"Is he alone?"

"Yes," Hannah breathed, feeling like she was going to pass out again.

"Have you run into any of the black serpents?"

"No, just him."

Alexa sighed in relief, "get him off this planet as soon as possible. You can't let Weyland get to him. Who knows what they will do with him, and with his weapons."

Hannah fell deathly silent. Somehow, hearing what she needed to do from someone else, made doing it seem less crazy. Mark was upset, he was walking around running his hands through his hair and cursing, and if Scott wasn't standing directly in his way, Hannah was sure he'd come over and hit her, if only because he needed something to hit.

"You need to go Alexa," Hannah said, whispering, but not because she was trying to be quiet. Her eyes were red, "Weyland's been crawling all over this place looking for this alien. You can't let them find you."

Alexa looked at Hannah, and nooded, looking to the other men and saying, "we need to go. We'll come find you later," she looked back at Hannah, "when it's safe."

Hannah nodded and followed everyone inside.

"Feeling better miss?" asked the gentleman behind the desk.

"Yes, thank you. Can I use your phone?"

As Alexa and the three gentleman were packing up, Hannah made a call to Ellen. The old woman was pleasant until she heard Hannah's voice, then knew instantly that something was wrong. Hannah wasn't specific about what had happened, in fact she omitted most everything but simply asked, "do you think I can stay for just the night?" she spoke quietly, least Alexa overhear and insist that Hannah put her effort into helping Jar-hidda. She was going to, but… she wasn't sure she could handle being near the alien, so soon after finding out.

"O-of course dear, I'll get the guest room ready for you, drive safely."

The five of them somehow managed to fit, uncomfortably, in the small gray Subaru, and Jacob dropped Hannah off at Mike's gas station. The old man peered curiously out the window. Jacob got out along with Hannah.

"Give me your phone," he asked, but didn't demand, "I don't have one," she said, passing him instead her little address book. Jacob wrote down something inside as Alexa slammed the trunk down, "it's my number, mine and Scott's call if you're in trouble," Hannah flipped the book closed and put it in her inner pocket.

"We're in this together now," Hannah looked up at Jacob, her gaze intense, and unsure. He gave her a reassuring smile, then looked over at Alexa who was waiting.

"Here," she said, handing Hannah the bundle that had the spear in it, "have him take this with him. It's dangerous if it stays here."

Hannah blinked and looked at the bundle in her hands, then at Alexa, who looked like she had just passed her only child into Hannah's arms to be taken away. She looked at Hannah out of tired eyes and nodded in affirmation, "we'll find you when it's safe," she insisted again. Hannah nodded but remained quiet. Alexa clenched her hands, "I'm sorry," she said and Hannah looked at her, feeling cold and empty.

"It's not your fault," she told the woman. Alexa was still for a moment, then gave Hannah a sad smile, then moved back to the car. Hannah stood still as they drove away, leaving her in the deafening silence, where a cold wind was beginning to blow.


End file.
